
Class 

Book 

Gopyiight}^^^. 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 



Collected Poems 



Grace Denio Litchfield 



G. P. Putnam's Sons 

New York and London 

^be IRnfcfterbocfter ptces 

1913 



75 J, at' 



Copyright, 1913 

BY 

GRACE DENIO LITCHFIELD 



Ube IftnfcfterbocFset ipress, IRew Igorft 



©)aA358tS4 



DEDICATION 

The bird gives its songs to the day, 

The blossom its bloom to the sky, 
The fountain out-tosses its spray 

As a call to the cloud that goes by. 
The star on its glimmering path 

Pays toll to the sovereign night 
Of the uttermost good that it hath, 

In a tribute of tremulous light. 

What though the bird's carol be faint. 

The blossom be naught but a weed, 
And the garb of the fountain be quaint, 

And the heavens too distant to heed? 
What though the wan gleam of the star 

Be lost in the fulness of day? 
Evermore to the power afar 

Each offers the thing that it may. 

So I, like the star and the fount. 

The reiterant bird and the flower. 
Telling o'er the inadequate count 

Of the fruits of my harvesting hour. 
Fain to glean what I may from its store 

Before the brief reaping-time ends, 
With a sigh that the gift be no more, 

Lay my sheaf at the feet of my friends. 



m 



Of the poems included in this volume, all save 
a few of the shorter ones have already appeared 
in separate editions from time to time since the 
year 1895, when under the collective title of 
Mimosa Leaves the lyrics were first issued in book 
form. These various publications, with some 
trifling omissions from their pages, are here 
offered to the public as a whole, after a revision 
which, however careful, remains confessedly 
inadequate to their needs, yet which it is hoped 
may plead as an excuse for their re-presentation. 

G. D. L. 

Washington, 
March, 1913. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

PRINCIPAL POEMS. 

Narcissus i 

Vita, an Allegorical Drama ... 33 

Baldur the Beautiful .... 89 

The Nun of Kent, a Historical Drama . 149 

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

In my Window-Seat ..... 241 

The Sunlight 244 

To A Rosebud 245 

Pain 246 

Day-Dreams 248 

Love Song 250 

In the Beautiful 251 

The Milky Way 252 

The Storm-King 254 

The Dance 257 

The Beggar 259 

The Fog 260 

One Silent Bird amid a Thousand Singing 261 

In the Hospital. ..... 262 

A Song of the Sunrise .... 270 

Midsummer 272 

A Mystery . . . ' . . . 273 

Sleep ........ 275 

vii 



viii Contents 

PAGE 

MISCELLANEOUS VOBMS.— Continued. 

Good-Bye 277 

The Setting Sun 278 

To A Hurt Child 279 

I Can not Kneel, I Can not Pray . . 280 
Mother, Mother, Can it Be . . .281 

The Poet-Heart ..... 283 

My Letter ...... 285 

Good-Night, Mother .... 286 

Pain Wrought . . . . . . 288 

In Life's Tunnel . . . . . 289 

Sympathy ....... 290 

Wedded, but not Mated . . . .291 

Wh^re am I While I Sleep? . . . 292 

Hopeless ....... 294 

An Enigma 295 

Between the Lines . . . . . 296 

The Song of the Cricket . . ... 297 

In the Teens ...... 298 

The Gift of Song 299 

Sweet Mother of my Dreams . . . 300 

Courage 301 

An Agnostic 302 

To A Wounded Moth. . . . . 304 

Love Now . . . . . . . 305 

Listening . . . . . . . 306 



Contents 


IX 




PAGE 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS— Continued, 




Flowertime Weather . . . . 


307 


Were I Yon Star 


308 


My Other Me 


309 


The Way to be Happy . . 


311 


Swinging 


312 


Love's Young Dream . . . . 


314 


A Birthday Song 


315 


Recognition 


317 


To THE Cicada Septemdecim . . 


318 


The Closed Door . . . . 


320 


A Dream of Happiness . . . . 


321 


Icarus 


322 


Into my Life she Came 


323 


Like a Garden of Marvellous Midsummei 




Blooms 


324 


Caged 


326 


My Friend 


329 


In an Eclipse 


. 330 


Remembrance 


. 331 


Semele 


. 333 


The Bend of the Road 


. 336 


The Hidden Brook .... 


. 337 


A Last Message .... 


. 338 


In the Forum of Justice . 


• 339 


Fate 


• 340 


To my Father 


. 341 



Narcissus 



TO 

KATHARINE DUMBELL 



Narcissus 

In days whose memory the heart yet stirs, 
As when at passing breeze o'er forest firs 
The whole deep wood melodiously thrills, 
There lay within the hollow of three hills 
A tiny slumbering lake. Its curved edge, 
Beyond the whispering rush and nodding sedge, 
Was cushioned close with moss more silken soft 
Than the enchanted couch whereon, so oft 
As winter slew the flowers, Adonis slept. 
Re-dreaming spring while Aphrodite wept. 
Oaks, broad-limbed as Dodona's magic trees 
Or sacred groves of the Eumenides, 
Arboured the sward, their branches, dense as 

those 
That hid the blinded exile from his foes. 
So blent in intertwinings manifold 
That when noon bathed their crests with fluent 

gold 
The green net held it fast, save where a few 
Bright drops, some loose mesh favouring, broke 

through 
Upon the dusk, as once on Danae's night 
The god of all rained down in drops of light. 
5 



6 Narcissus 

Under dew-broidered webs — each morn new- 
spun 
Fair as Penelope's by night undone — 
Over the velvet floor, as yet untrod 
By hoof of satyr or by foot of god, 
A myriad small things crept in and out, 
And happy little sounds were all about. 
White moths and butterflies on rainbow wings 
Crossed and recrossed with fan-like flutterings. 
Bees blundered dizzily from blooms to blooms, 
Distraught with proffered sweets. Through 

drowsy glooms 
Snakes stretched their jewelled lengths in lines of 

light, 
Harmless as lizards. In the leafy height 
Above, the birds, a Bacchanalian crew, 
Held rapturous carousal. Drunk with dew, 
The lark forgot to soar. The nightingale 
Forgot lost Itylus and Procne's tale, 
Forgot all else but love. The hunted swallow 
Forgot to fly. The hawk forgot to follow. 

Guarding this goodly spot three peaks rose up, 
Enclosing it as in a jacinth cup 
Laid o'er with emeralds. Their lifted brows 
Were first to signal when Tithonus* spouse 
Stood in the east with sleepy lids dropped low, 
Were last to let the golden glory go 
When, at day's finish, from his dazzling car 
The bright god leaned and flung the reins afar 



Narciss-us 7 

From off his smoking steeds. And when night 

fell 
Sable and silent over hill and dell, 
And noiseless through the iron gates and through 
The gates of ivory false dreams and true 
Stole earthward, while old Somnus far away- 
Stirred in his poppied sleep and silence lay 
Around him as a flame lies round the thing 
It feeds on, through the darkness towering — 
Near neighbours to the stars, and royally 
Invested in the midnight's majesty — 
Ossa on Pelion, the peaks looked down, 
Wearing the silver moonlight for a crown. 
And when in anger or unholy mirth 
Jove loosed his blazing tempests on the earth, 
And ^olus at his great lord's command 
Sent his wild brood hallooing up the land 
With all the furies following in their track, 
The peaks, defiant, hurled Jove's thunders back 
And met his bolts unmoved. 

There lay the lake, 
Green-cradled between banks of fern and brake, 
Crooned to by mother-birds the whole glad day. 
Still as an unawakened soul it lay, 
As slept Endymion beneath the moon 
When Dian's matchless kiss bequeathed the boon 
Of dreams immortal and immortal youth 
Freed evermore from touch of Time and Truth. 
Deep were its waters, and as crystal clear 
As on child's cheek the yet unsalted tear; 



8 Narcissus 

So satin smooth the radiance of its face, 

The shadows, glancing, seemed to hang in 

space ; 
And blue it was as blue of twilight sky 
'Twixt birdsong time and startime, when on 

high 
Throbs Hesperus, a sparkle of wet gold — 
Eve's single gem, caught edgewise in a fold 
Of her loose robe — and in the moment's hush 
The round, full, silver flute note of the thrush 
Breaks jubilant upon the breathless air. 
Calling the world to ecstasy of prayer. 

Nor lore nor legend yet the hollow had. 
Its haunts unknown to nymph or oread. 
No faun with pointed, ears peeped through the 

trees : 
Among the reeds no Pan piped melodies. 
Fed by the cool inrush of mountain streams, 
The lake lay given over to its dreams. 
Dimpling with pleasure when light summer rains 
Danced o'er its silvery surface, scarce at pains 
To furrow its smooth brow when harsh winds 

blew 
And high o'erhead the screaming storm-gulls 

flew. 
Serene it mirrored all it knew of heaven — 
The sun by day, the moon and stars at even; 
Or if no light was, drew the darkness down 
And wore it like a cloak of eider-down, 



Narcissvjs 9 

Nested as nest the birds, head under wing, 
Happy and sure, dreading not anjrthing. 

Hither, one day. Narcissus came, chance-led, 

Tracing a truant streamlet to its bed. 

Deep ran the indented channel, boulder-strewn, 

Athwart a tangled forest maze unhewn 

Since time began. Adown it dashed the brook: 

Now leaped the rocks and high above outshook 

A cloud of snow-white plumes: now smoothed 

itself 
To limpid glass beneath a granite shelf: 
Now slipped impetuous twin banks atween, 
A tossing ribbon, spun of froth and sheen 
In all the tints that Here's messenger 
Flaunts in her arching veil of gossamer — 
Here dappled green where gracious willows grew: 
Here, where the sky laughed down, a lucent blue : 
And here, where sunny leaf-flecked shallows 

spread, 
Amber and blended browns, with glints of red 
From Earth's bared veins. And as it flowed, it 

sang. 
The forest with the rippling music rang. 
Never Pactolus o'er his sands of gold 
More merrily his yellow waves unrolled, 
Nor sweeter sang Alpheus, when at last, 
O'erta'en and conquered, Arethusa cast 
Her lot with his. So, singing, through the wood 
The streamlet ran, proclaiming life is good. 



lo Narciss\is 

Thus lured from step to step, charmed ears and 

eyes 
Full fed with beauty, on his high emprise 
Narcissus came. As toward the eternal light, 
Divined in darkness and primeval night, 
The blind grub crawls, dreaming of unknown 

wings — 
As toward the restless sea the river springs, 
Albeit, born mid solitary snows, 
Nothing it kens save silence and repose — 
So, led by a dim instinct in his blood 
That hungered for the beautiful and good. 
Narcissus, groping through the actual, sought 
A vaguely limned ideal — at best caught 
No more than fleeting glimpse of his desire 
Flashed back upon him, like the phantom fire 
Of a spent meteor upon the night. 
That, flashing, dies and leaves a trail of light 
As if a god had passed. An alien 
He moved among his mocking fellow-men, 
An exile in a human wilderness. 
Lonely with the enduring loneliness 
Of the separate moon, uncompanied in heaven 
Save for the clouds that cross her path, wind- 
driven : 
The dark, sad moon, though girt around with Hght : 
The old, cold moon, who to her own despite 
May never, be it to her nearest lover, 
That hidden frozen heart of hers discover. 



Narciss-us il 

So came Narcissus to the lonely lake 
Among the isolating hills, awake 
Or dreaming scarce he knew, so rare the spot 
He stumbled on. The day was hushed and hot ; 
But cool and odorous the dusky place 
Received him in its balmy-armed embrace, 
Wooing to rest ere yet the need was. Down 
He cast him on the emerald sod, where brown 
And golden-lined the falling shadows lingered, 
Loath to be gone. Caressing zephyrs fingered 
His shining curls. Not softer was the kiss 
Wherewith Amor woke Psyche back to bliss; 
Nor whiter was the crest of Leda 's swan 
Than the young brow the tresses drooped upon; 
Nor straighter-limbed was any cedar's span, 
Nor fairer any form Olympian 
Than his that lay supine upon the moss. 
Blue were his eyes as caverned lakes, across 
Whose vivid depths hope played like leaping 

flame, 
And longing like a shadow went and came. 
Now soft they closed, as flowers close at night; 
As feathers fall, so fell his eyelids white. 
And slow a sigh of peace stole 'twixt his lips, 
A half -breathed note, as when a swallow dips 
In swerving flight, and stirs the passive air 
To silken sound. 

Thus lay Narcissus there, 
A fresh-culled lily dropped amid the green, 
Fairer than any plucked by Proserpine 



12 Narciss\jis 

What time Dis found her, bosomed mid the 

flowers, 
And gathered her to grace death's dreary bowers. 
A stern old river god had fathered him ; 
A nymph his mother, peerless face and limb ; 
Half mortal, half immortal thus was born, 
As, sooth, all sons of men, albeit shorn 
In better part of their divinity 
Through blind acceptance of a less degree. 
Content to reach no higher than man *s nature. 
Who, an they would, might all be gods in stature. 

Awhile Narcissus dreamed beneath the trees, 
O'ermastered by a pleasantness of ease 
That drugged his senses Uke an opiate; 
Then woke to quickened consciousness, elate 
When from a topmost bough a wee bold bird 
Trilled to its nest, or when his fine ear heard 
The whispered rustle of a bee-swung leaf, 
Or whir of fragile wings, where in relief 
Against the light some gauzy thing took shape. 
Pleasant it was to mark the gnat escape 
The net it floundered on; to watch the moth 
Breathe open and breathe shut ere trembling 

forth 
To flirt its painted pinions in the sun; 
Pleasant to see the little seedlings run 
Like live things all along the tufted grass ; 
Pleasant to see the invisible breezes pass ; 
To see the thistledown, steered soft aside 



Narcissus 13 

From wrecking thorn and bramble undescried, 
Sail on in billowy lightness o'er the swell 
Of aerial seas. Pleasant the pungent smell 
Of bruisM balsams and of rain-wet roots, 
The aroma of young leaves and spicy shoots; 
Pleasant each subtlest scent and sight and sound 
Within the whole wide wood's idyllic round. 
And in the appealing beauty of the spot 
Narcissus his life-loneliness forgot, 
Alone no longer in a solitude 
Graced with such gifts in royal plenitude. 
For kind as knight to damsel in distress 
Is Nature, to who seeks her large caress. 

But now the lustrous day waned toward its close. 
And slowly, like thin mountain mists, uprose 
The laid-by ghosts of thought, again to vex 
Narcissus' soul with problems, and perplex 
With haunting wonders. Wherefore was it given 
To mortal to conceive himself a Heaven, 
Yet win no nearer to his goal? Oh, sweet 
Beyond all earthly sweetness, and complete 
Beyond all earth's perfections, his ideal! 
The beautiful to be the only real. 
The good the only truth, truth life's one aim. 
Who could the splendour of such hope defame. 
Brooking a lesser glory — be content 
With any excellence less excellent 
Than the supremely best? Yet though one search 
The world o 'er, doth some blemish not besmirch 



14 Narciss"us 

The whitest soul, mar the divinest face? 

Who dare show all his heart, nor court disgrace? 

Doth any lift at noon, unstained, untorn. 

The spotless standard he upraised at morn? 

Doth any bring from battle blade as bright 

As that he erst unsheathed for the fight? 

Who steers his puny skiff through wind and 

storm 
Unharmed to port? Alas! The high gods form 
In ranks above, and watch with cruel laughter 
Each bark set sail, knowing what shall be after — 
A broken helm, dragged anchor, drifting oar. 
Who pilots soul so shipwrecked to the shore? 
The struggle over, death's black current sweeps 
Each down where Hecate in loathing steeps 
From fiowerless weeds the odious rank wine 
That slakes forever thirst for the divine. 
And there in Lethe 's level-flowing stream, 
Lost is the last faint glimmer of his dream. 

Thus ran Narcissus* thought in darkening lines, 
As shadows lengthen when the day divines 
Approaching night. And as the moonlight fails 
When shredded clouds, like shallops with blown 

sails, 
Drift darkling o*er the silver of its track, 
So loneliness upon his heart crept back 
In broken gusts of feeling, till at last 
The whole sky of his soul was overcast. 
No Pylades he reckoned mid his friends 



Narciss\is 15 

To match him pulse by pulse. Affection ends 
Where fear begins, and he who climbs too high 
Must climb alone. O'er-earnest was his eye, 
O'er-grave his smile, o'er-weighed with thought 

his speech. 
No comrade of them all aspired to reach 
His soul's far height, nor willed to understand 
The import of his spirit's stern demand. 
"Youth," said they, "is the heyday time of 

flowers. 
Leave age the gathering of simples. Hours 
Compact of bloom and light and melody, 
Pertain to Pan and to Terpsichore. 
When Pan's pipe shivers, when the dead leaf 

falls. 
When from the naked bough the gaunt crow 

calls. 
When fitful gales scream down the withered 

hills. 
And from the mountain blows the blast that 

kills, 
When Nature is grown hollow-cheeked and 

haggard. 
With faded smile and heart-beats faint and 

laggard. 
Then may we meditate with likelier reason 
Themes that in glowing June are out of season. 
Now, " said they, "is our June-time. Fare thee 

well. 
We leave thee for warm banks of asphodel. 



i6 Narcissvis 

Thou, with thy Circe face and Pallas tongue, 
Dream on as liketh thee. " 

So mocking flung 
Each one his word, and singing turned aside. 
(He had not lonelier been an he had died.) 

** 'T is spring time, 't is wing time. 
The whole world 's in motion; 
*T is sing time, 't is swing time 
From ocean to ocean! 
The grasses salaam; the reeds titter and nod; 
Every zephyr that blows is the breath of a god. 
Every leaf is a-curtseying, each to its neigh- 
bours, 
The moss-banks are waving their delicate sabres. 
The luminous ether drops bird-notes like dew 
From the glimmering, shimmering, palpitant 

blue. 
The clouds are white eagles that fly toward the 

sun. 
The brooklets are ground-larks that sing as they 
run. 

Oh, *t is May time, 't is play time! 
The whole world 's a riot — 
A joyous disquiet 
Of sunbeams that flicker, of water that heaves. 
Pan, Pan from the rushes is piping: 'Come 

hither!' 
The swallow swoops downward: 'Oh, whither? 
oh, whither?* 



Narcissus 17 

And 'Thither!' the faun from the forest cries: 
'Thither!' 
And Dryope laughs through her leaves. 
Oh, 't is dove time, 't is love time! 
The whole world is mating. 
E 'en Dis on his throne in the dark under zone 

Is a- weary with waiting, 
A- weary with comfortless flowerless night, 
And has snatched him a bride from soft regions of 

Hght. 
E'en Dian o'er Latmos leans low from the cloud, 
In the white of her magic love's dreams to 

enshroud. 
E'en the wind-footed maid falters thrice as she 

flies, 
To lift the gold apple shall make her love's prize. 
E'en Daphne, a-quiver through all her young 

boughs, 
Sighs faintly : ' Alas for the unfulfilled vows ! 

Apollo! Apollo! Apollo!' 
Creation 's ablaze with the one flaming fire : 
Athrill with one passion, one burning desire. 
Love calls from the hilltop, Love calls from the 
hollow, 

* 'T is spring time, 't is wing time, 

'T is dove time, 't is love time, 

Oh, follow! Oh, follow! Oh, follow!'" 

Amid the careless crowd were some forsooth 
Knew no disfavour toward the beauteous youth. 



1 8 Narcissus 

Full many a nymph had wooed him, though for 

naught ; 
And Echo, loveliest of them all, distraught 
For love of him, as true as Clytie, 
As fleet of foot as Lelaps, sure as he. 
And more untiring than Alectryon, 
Wherever led Liriope's lone son 
Followed upon his footsteps undeterred, 
Though never backward glance he gave, nor 

word. 
Weeping and smiting her bare breast she went, 
On him who pressed before her gaze attent. 
Her eyes, tear-brimmed as anguished Niobe's, 
Were midnight stars, mirrored on midnight seas. 
So slight her form she scarce a shadow cast ; 
It seemed a ray of light shone where she passed. 
Her footfall left the dew upon the blade. 
Left whole the cobweb's labyrinthine braid, 
Met neither prick of stone nor thrust of thorn. 
Soft as the silken tassel of the corn. 
And yellow as the glittering Golden Fleece, 
Her bright hair, falling, veiled her to the knees. 
Medusa's locks burned not with richer flame 
Ere Pallas smote their glory into shame. 

Certes no lovelier nymph in earth's demesne, 
Nor sweeter, sued for love. Yet never quean 
Less guerdon won for unsought heart's full dole, 
Nor paid in costlier coin Love's unjust toll. 
Silent she went as image carved in stone. 



Narcissus 19 

Voiceless since one dread day not far agone 
When Here, the implacable in hate, 
Avenging some poor slight shown her estate, 
Took -from the maid birthright of speech at will, 
Decreeing she her smitten years fulfil 
Dumb as the dead, save if one spake. Then 

must 
She, stooping, lift his last word from the dust, 
Whate'er it be, and call it o'er and o'er 
Till her breath fail her, and she can no more. 

Cruel, O goddess, thine adjudged award 
For that sweet tale that held thee from thy guard 
With soft-tongued nothings all of half a day. 
The while thy lord pursued his unwatched way! 

Thus, on an eve whereof this seemed the fellow — 
So soft its shades, its dripping lights so mellow — 
Narcissus, unaware of her who followed. 
Once roamed the woods. A rushing torrent 

hollowed 
Here a ravine, along whose rock-strewn crest 
Idly he wandered, every sense at rest 
In a charmed peace of chosen solitude 
That left no room for cognizance of mood, 
Nor unfulfilled desire of anything. 
Sudden a homing bird on scarlet wing 
Splashed through the green and swooped upon 

his sight. 
Impelled, he bent his gaze to note its flight ; 



20 N 



arcissias 



So heard a breath, so saw an aspen stir, 
So caught a gleam from golden hair of her 
Who, still leaf-hidden, breathless where she 

stood — 
A slim wild thing within a wilder wood — 
Waited for sign from him as from a god. 

Swift anger took him, and he stamped the sod 
Like one entrapped. The solitude despoiled, 
Comradeship unelect thrust on him, foiled 
The hour's magic. Irked by his vexation. 
He strode on, glooming. She, in strange elation 
That stayed her trembling limbs up like a 

crutch, 
Stept imseen after, till, teased overmuch 
By conscience of some creature lurking there 
With eyes that drank his movements as a hare 
Drinks sound, he swept about, all measure lost. 
His beauteous head thrown high, his curls back 

tost. 
"Speak! Who is here?" quoth he. 

Forth from the wood 
She crept, obedient, and drooping stood. 
"Here," breathed she back. And then again: 

"Here. Here." 
And once again, faint as a falling tear, 
"Here." Dazed, abashed, with suppliant eyes 

aglow, 
Stood so before him, white as driven snow, 
Her gold hair all about her like a cloud, 



Narcissvis 21 

Her tender hands outstretched, her bright head 

bowed. 
So Semele, before the blasting splendour 
Of fire-crowned Zeus, did her weak soul surrender. 

But wrath held the young heart of him in bond. 
Too angered to show pity or be fond, 
Rudely he flung at her: "Why folio west me? 
Whom seekest thou, I pray thee?" 

"Thee!" cried she, 
And faltered to her knees, wet eyes adoring, 
Wan arms upraised, the whole bent form implor- 
ing. 
"Thee! Thee!" And once again, as soft, as low 
As dropping flake upon new fallen snow, 
"Thee!" 

Yet more rough his speech. "By all 
above me, 
No bolder couldst thou be an didst thou love 
me!" 

She quivered like a leaf on shaken tree. 
Across her brow a flame rushed scorchingly. 
"Love me," she whispered, helpless. "Love 



As from beyond a separating sea 

The murmur floated to his heedless ear, 

A prayer fit only for kind Heaven to hear 



22 Narciss\is 

For depth of pain and passion it confest, 
Her whole soul-life within the word comprest. 
His look was as a knife-thrust in her heart. 
Scornful he laughed: "Nay, prithee, stay- 
apart ! 
I love not thee nor any. So farewell," 
And broke aside and plunged within the dell 
Whose depths received and hid him from her 
sight. 

Her body could no more her will requite. 

Her feet refused to follow. Her dimmed eyes 

Denied their service. Forest, rocks, and skies 

Fell into chaos. Like a broken flower, 

Too rudely blown on in a stormy hour. 

She drooped upon herself, vanquished, undone. 

As drowns the moon in glory of the sun. 
As melts the outblown foam upon the seas. 
As fades the drifting perfume on the breeze. 
As pales the bow on heaven 's stupendous blue, 
So her great love her fainting spirit slew. 
"Farewell. Farewell," once and again she 

sighed: 
Then prone upon the sward sank down and 

died. 
And where she was, was nothing, save a mist 
Exhaling on the ether. All earth list 
With a quick inward-taken breath. "Farewell, " 
Like the last quiver of a ceasing bell 



Narciss\is 23 

Came floating downward, and her soul passed 

on — 
A sob among the hills — and so was gone. 

As traversed roads seen through an autumn haze 
Shut on returning vision, so those days. 
Misted by memory, now dimly caught 
And loosely held Narcissus' roving thought. 
Love him beseemed some lustre yet to come — 
Some greatness shoiild strike lesser honours 

dumb — 
A splendour beyond passion, beyond sense, 
Surpassing all conceived magnificence. 
Wherefore, to dally with or love or faith 
Of slighter worth, were but to love Love's 

wraith. 

Thus mused he, his swift fancy soaring higher 

And higher as on lark-wings of desire. 

Till in the infinite, as in the blue 

The mounting bird dissolves upon the view. 

His spirit lost itself. 

Scarce sentient lay 
His body thus, till by the close of day 
Thirst whispered him. Awaked to fleshly needs, 
He gazed around, half lifted from the weeds. 
A holy hush suffused the temperate air; 
Peace, like a written word, lay everywhere. 
The birds were still. No tiniest breeze was 
playing. 



24 Narciss\js 

The leaves hung lax, like hands down dropped 

from praying. 
Pale gold the sky: pale gold the lake: pale gold 
The light wherein the woods were cloaked and 

stoled 
As had the hour invested all creation 
For one supernal act of adoration. 
And the vast silence was as music. Thrilled 
With harmonies empyrean, it filled 
All space with soundless song. No living speech 
To so impassioned utterance could reach. 
And now for very bliss Day swooned to death. 
Pouring his heart out in a blood-stained 

breath, 
And Heaven stooped to gather in his soul. 

With awe Narcissus watched from pole to pole 
The burning splendotir spread, until again 
Thirst called to him, insistent, like a pain. 
"E'en so," thought he, "my thirst for the 

ideal 
Is yet to find assuagement in the real. 
Some victor hour high Heaven shall give reply: 
My soul must come into its own, or die. " 

Recumbent still, along the pliant grass. 
To where the lake lay like a thing of glass. 
His supple limbs he drew with lissome grace. 
Till o'er the brink he bent his perfect face, 
"To all the gods I drink," devoutly said, 



Narcissxis 25 

And to the gleaming surface stooped his head. 

Lo ! as he bent above the golden sheen, 
A face, young, exquisite, rose up between 
His thirsting lips and the clear depths below. 
As sudden sun on field of frosted snow, 
So dazzling on his sight the vision broke, 
And in his breast tumult of joyance woke. 
Aside he crept, bewildered at such blaze 
Of beauty, and af eared lest 'neath his gaze 
It flee affrighted, as once Eros fled 
When glance too curious was hazarded 
On his fair godhood. Vain the trembling pause! 
Back the lake drew him as a magnet draws. 
And lo! again the face, its radiant eyes 
Fixt on him in a wonder of surprise 
And questioning. Not fairer e 'en was he 
By jealous Zephyr slain, nor fairer she 
Born whitely of sea-foam on billowing crest. 
Oh, beauty past belief — Creation's best — 
Faultless of form, instinct with faultless soul — 
Perfect in one incomparable whole! 
All his own lofty longings looked at him 
From those deep eyes. All his ideals dim 
And vague and exquisite, here realised, 
Informed with lovely life he recognised. 
Scarce drew he breath for rush of ecstasy. 
Each high and godlike possibility, 
Enfolded in the soul as is the flower 
Within the bud, in that revealing hour 



26 Narciss\js 

Divinely dawned on him and held him mute, 
As waits the unsung song within the lute 
The liberating hand. 

A moment yet 
He dallied with enchantment. Then, beset 
By marvel, breathed, "Who art thou?" half in 

awe. 
And as he spoke, his question spoken saw. 
"Thine other self," he whispered down, and 

thought 
The same soft syllables he answering caught. 
Nearer he pressed. The vision came more near, 
Ardent as he, as he, too, in sweet fear — 
Gave back his look of high companionship. 
His joy ineffable, from eye and lip. 
Gave back his eager smile, his timorous grace, 
Gave love for love in that brief instant's space, 
Till he, thereat emboldened overmuch. 
With cry triumphant closer stooped to touch 
The lips so near his own; almost he felt 
Their breath ambrosial in his own breath melt 
As fragrance of two roses blends in one : 
When ah! e'en as they met, the face was gone. 

Confounded he leaped up. What swift disguise 
Had some god lent to thwart him of his prize? 
His searching glance swept lake and sky in wrath, 
If haply trace were of the followed path. 
"Fear naught, O Love!" he called. " Return 1 
Haste hither!" 



NarcissMS 2^] 

He listened, tense. Reply came from no whither. 
The widening rings across the water's breast 
In burnished grooves ran toward the shining west. 
Pale gold the world, and Silence its high-priest. 

Breathless he waited, his desire increased 
Sevenfold by loss. But sudden, like a flame 
Cut off, the daylight went, and darkness came 
With velvet tread adown the hill's long slope. 
And as a frost-touched flower fades, his hope 
Shrivelled and fell. Then woke a little breeze 
Within the wood, and stole from out the trees, 
And touched as with a small forbidding palm 
His wet, cold cheek. There seized him an alarm 
Futile and formless as a mist. Dismayed, 
Incontinent he drew back to the shade 
Of the friendly oaks as to a warm green tent, 
So generously the courteous branches lent 
Their shelter. There at last, soothed, comforted 
By their benignant presence, his fair head 
Pillowed upon their cushioned roots, he slept. 
And in his dreams tryst with the vision kept. 

Near and more near now came soft-stepping 

night 
O'er neighbouring hills of dusky malachite, 
As dying day undid the eastern bars. 
Her flying tresses braided with gold stars. 
The rustle of her garment, loosely flowing, 
Making a murmured music of her going. 



28 N 



arcissus 



Her languorous lids half closed, her slackened 

hand 
Dropping down dreams, slow passed she o'er 

the land, 
A perfume faint, miraculously sweet — 
The breath of blossoms bruised beneath her feet — 
Trailing like brume of incense after her ; 
And place and time became one wide deep blur. 

Scarce had the Hours begun their matin flight 
Across the skies, linked in prismatic light, 
Scarce had the golden chariot emerged 
From the vast trough where rose-clouds seethed 

and surged. 
When, with the first bird-note that tuned the air 
To tinkling sweetness, from his leafy lair 
Narcissus came, hope born again with day. 
A jewelled world before him glowing lay. 
A carbuncle the bed where late he dreamed; 
*Neath opal sky the lake an opal seemed; 
The hills, translucent through soft moonstone 

mists. 
Were glimmering sapphires and pale amethysts ; 
The forest boughs a mass of beryls swung; 
A chrysoprase from every grass-sheath hung; 
Onyx and sardonyx was Earth's bare crust. 
And all the scintillant air was diamond dust. 

Joy filled Narcissus' heart. Joy burst in song 
From his glad Hps. He threw himself along 



Narciss\is 29 

The water's brim, half hidden in lush grass, 
Conjuring Zeus to bring his dream to pass. 
And straightway, from the east upon his right, 
Came a young dove in iridescent flight — 
Omen of good that Heaven assenting gave — 
And he, exultant, o'er the placid wave 
Leaned his bright head. 

Ha! From the depths anew 
It rose to meet him through the riven blue — 
A star ascending! Sight so dear as this 
Surpassed concept — lips pleading for his kiss, 
Eyes mystic with unfathomable adoring. 
Arms outstretched as his own were in imploring. 
Surely such look Alcestis wore, re-given 
From death to him whose love made all her 

Heaven. 
An instant of transported recognition, 
And lo ! again it was not. What fruition 
Of hope was this? Between his groping hands 
The soft cool waters slipped like silken bands ; 
The tall weeds washed against his arms and 

clung; 
The wet curls from his forehead dripping hung. 
But vanished was the vision. Too elate 
Had been his hope and too precipitate. 
Snatching at bliss ere yet was due the wage. 
Back fled he to his leafy hermitage. 
Such grief upon him as was that which tore 
Achilles when Patroclus was no more. 
Not Phaeton from heaven more headlong fell, 



30 Narciss\xs 

Nor Icarus, to sorrow's deepest hell, 
Than now Narcissus, till at last o'ercame 
His passionate longing his defeat and shame. 
And drove him to the water's edge once more. 
There once again joy shook him to the core, 
For there, as if, re-conquered by his grief, 
Willing to grant him semblance of relief. 
The dear face tarried for him, smiled on him 
With joy commensurate, through eyes yet dim 
With undried tears, more passionate, more 

tender, 
Grown its expression of divine surrender, 
More exquisite its rapture of devotion. 
Intoxicate with answering emotion. 
Moveless as marble image, dumb with bliss, 
Fear-taught to caution, lest again he miss 
The joy he grasped at, long Narcissus knelt 
Bowed o'er the lake, nor thirst nor hunger felt, 
Nor weariness, nor any selfhood knew, 
Lost in the vision's ravishment. 

So flew 
Time by, if told in moments or in days 
He reckoned not. Immovably his gaze 
Was stayed upon the changing face below, 
So full of noble longings and the woe 
Of unattained desires, that last as first 
Fled from his touch as were he thing accurst. 
Till, acquiescent grown through slow despair. 
He strove no more, and prayed but one mad 

prayer — 



Narciss-us 31 

That day endure for aye. For light was life, 
And darkness death — twilight a losing strife, 
Where life and death did battle, and death 

won. 
Sleep had abandoned him. From sun to sun 
One gnawing care, one ravenous need alone 
Sucked at his life — the need to make his own 
The beauty featured in that haunting face. 
Alas ! doth Heaven accord to any grace 
To win to the ideal through desire 
Unfructified? Like torch to funeral pyre 
Is aspiration without effort. He 
Who rounds his faulted soul to symmetry, 
Needs more than barren worship of the good 
To re-create him to the shape he would. 
Too late Narcissus, swooning o'er the lake. 
Saw mirrored there what life had held at stake ; 
Saw written clear, those lovely lines within, 
All he was meant to be and might have been; 
Too late saw^ all his soul had lost of gain; 
Too late saw sin in failure to attain. 

Thus, goaded by vain longing, fied his strength 
As flies the wind-lashed sand, till spent at length, 
With piteous glazed eyes that saw no more 
Fixt where the wave the abiding vision bore, 
Soulless, insensate, conscienceless he lay, 
A thing by Earth and Heaven cast away. 
And days passed, with their sunbeams and their 
blooms, 



32 Narcissxis 

And nights passed, with their stars and solemn 

glooms, 
And still the gods were silent. 

So died he, 
For love of that which he had failed to be — 
A soul all unfulfilled and incomplete. 
And where he died, a milk-white flower, sweet 
With unuttered and unutterable things, 
Fniitless through Nature's many harvestings. 
And bearing at its heart a burning flame, 
Grew, and was called thenceforward by his 
name. 



Vita 

An Allegorical Drama 



33 



TO 

FRANCESE LITCHFIELD TURNBULL 



35 



PERSONAGES 

Time, Guardian of Truth 

Vita, Daughter of Time 

Truth 

Happiness 

Faith ") 

Care >• Attendants of Vita 

Malice } 

Hope, a Sorceress 

History, a Herald 

Three Courtiers 

Chorus of the Days 



36 



ACT I 

(Scene i — Throne-room in the palace of Time. 
Chorus — seven maidens hand in hand — sur- 
rounding the throne. Time seated in state 
upon it.) 
Chorus : 

O most mighty, most glorious, 
Most high, most victorious, 

Most ancient of birth! 
O Monarch supremest ! 
O Power extremest 

And gentlest of Earth! 

Who are we to adore thee? 
What are all things before thee 

But drops in a river 
That hastes to be tossed in thee. 
Left in thee, lost in thee. 

For ever and ever! 

Ruler of Ages, 
Awarder of wages 

To the cycles in round! 
We grow faint in thy glory, 
37 



38 Vita ACT I 

O Sovereign hoary, 

Star-girdled, sun-crowned ! 

{The music becomes softer and softer and the 
maidens disappear with the last line, their 
song still sounding faintly in the distance. 
Enter History.) 

History: Hail, Master! 

Time: Thou art welcome, History. 

Whence comest thou? 

History : From every whither home. 

Time: What hast thou gleaned? 

History: Both good and evil. 

Time: Much 

I trow of evil, but yet more of good, 
Else hast thou falsely garnered. Sift thine 
hoard. 

History: There have been mighty wars. 

Time : I will note down 

Their chieftains. Be the rest forgot. Pass on. 

History : One fell for whom a stricken world 
makes moan. 

Time : I will replace him. 

History: All the earth is red 

And sick with blood. 

Time : I will remantle it 

With peace and flowers. 

History : There live who best were dead. 

Time : I will o'ertake them. 

History: A new creed is bom. 



sc. I Vita 39 

Time : I will examine it. 

History: A genius dies 

Unrecognised. 

Time: I will embalm his name. 

History: A villain walks in honour. 

Time: I will brand 

His tomb. 

History : Men toil. 

Time: I will bring rest to each. 

History: Men weep. 

Time : I will bring all forgetfulness. 

Hast more? 

History: But this. One seeketh Truth of 
thee. 

Time : Thinks he to look on Truth and live? 

History: He dares. 

Time : Whence cometh he? 

History: Man knows not whence nor when, 
Nor more than that Earth names him Happiness. 

Time: I know him of repute, but not of form. 
I have not looked on him since Earth was young, 
And have grown old in watching for him. Go. 

{Exit History.) 
Ha, this imports in very deed! He comes — • 
He whom I could not summon at my will, 
Nor bend to my control! He comes at last, 
Albeit not in homage; seeking Truth, 
Of me, her long-time guardian, makes his claim. 
Fool! Fool! Have they who sought her of me 
found? 



40 Vita ACT I 

Have they who begged her of me won their 

prayer? 
Not yet! Men cry out: Truth! Oh, give us 

Truth! 
And know not what they cry for. Did I yield, — 
Did I at their insistence bring her forth 
And set her in the midst of them, ablaze 
With the bareness of her splendour, — why, how 

then? 
Not yet is Earth attempered unto Truth. 
Men hold their cursed idols all too close 
To their false hearts to meet her face to 

face, 
To take her by the hand, and say: Be mine! 
What throne so high is, she might sit thereon, 
Nor dim the crown of him she sat beside? 
What fane so pure is, she might kneel within 
Nor show their garments spotted who made 

prayer? 
What love so bright she would not tarnish it — • 
What art so rich she would not beggar it 
With but a glance? Go to! The day 's not 

ripe 
For her revealing. Truth is dangerous 
To hearts unaccoladed to her touch. 
She shall not forth. 

{Enter Vita.) 

Time: Thou, Vita? 

Vita: Father, hail. 



sc. I Vita 41 

Time: Fitly thy coining chimeth with desire. 
Here 's joy for thee. 

Vita: Ripe fruits hang not o'er long. 

I plucked thy word in coming. Grateful was 't 
To my Hfe's thirst. 

Time: How came my word to thee? 

Vita: Methinks my heart did hear before 
mine ears. 
They catch light sounds who hark for 
Happiness. 

Time: Then listen close. For soft as step of 
sun 
On cushioned sward — ^noiseless as rush of star 
Across night's azure — still as stir of leaf 
Unfurling to the spring — so Happiness 
Comes to this world of watchers, so goes by, 
Unheard. 

Vita : What boots it then I waste slow years 
Mistaking mine own pulse-beats for his call? 
Great Father, giver of gifts, my being crown ! 
Bid Happiness be mine! 

Time: This may I not. 

Vita: How may'st thou not? What wonder- 
working will 
Can bar the consequence of thy command? 
Are not all bom thy slaves? 

Time : All save this one. 

Who nor my vassal is, nor names me Lord. 

Vita: Thou mock'st! Art not supreme? 

Time : There is no power 



42 Vita ACT I 

But hath its bound. Albeit my law obtains 
From this pale globe to Heaven's remotest sun, 
Here stays my rule. Here ends my sovereignty. 

Vita: Thou nam'st thy greatness and thy 
nothingness 
In the one breath. What hath that power 

of worth 
Which doth possess all excellence save one 
That is the essence and the sum of all? 
Father, I will have Happiness! I will! 
Give thou me Happiness ! Give, give ! oh give I 

Time: Leave off thine importunities. Weak 
prayers, 
Blown by vain winds against the impossible. 
Make shipwreck and are lost. 
Vita: But wherefore then 

Comes Happiness so near, if not to me? 
Better afar, than nigh and yet not mine! 
More blest is he who ne'er knew Happiness, 
Than he who buys the knowledge with the loss. 

Time : Not so, while memory thereof endures, 
Gilding life's desert with its afterglow. 

Vita: To live in light of a remembered joy 
Is through enduring dusks to mourn the sun. 
Whose eyes shall drink their fill of Happiness 
While mine go starved? 
Time: The clear, wide eyes of Truth. 

Vita: Truth! Truth! I love her not! 

Time: Bestir thee then 

To win thee Happiness. Behold, are not 



sc. I Vita 43 

The days of all thy life within thy hands 
To mould them as thou wilt for good or ill? 
Thyself, and naught outside thee, is thy fate. 
That thou becomest shapes thy destiny. 
Be strong. Be just, unconquerable, true. 
Make Happiness thine own. 
Vita : So fair a prize 

What hand could choose but reach for, though 

to miss? 
Deem me not over-bold, but dutiful, 
That wish out-leaps to action. Happiness 
Shall yet be mine — Oh, joy ! — shall be mine own — • 
Mine own! oh, joy — joy — joy! 

Time : Oh, blinded heart 

And poor! Oh, falsest vision! Happiness 
Comes not at call, depends not on desire. 
Matches no dream, to no man's measure fits. 
Not they who seek are they who find. Not 

they 
Who ask, receive. But they who neither look 
Nor long for guerdon, they who largely live, 
Freed from self's narrow shackles by a love 
Broad as humanity, whose every thought 
Is a white deed, for joy of serving done — 
To these, unheralded, unrecognised • 
Save in that inmost shrine where bums his light, 
To these comes Happiness, to these brings 

Heaven. — 
Thou foolish heart and vain ! Pass on. Pass on. 

{Exeunt.) 



44 Vita ACT I 

(Scene ii — Vitals apartments. Faith, Care, 
and Malice winding wreaths.) 

Care: Our Mistress tarries. 

Faith: Nay, she cometh soon. 

Malice: I '11 leave off labour till she nighs. 
What need 
To prick my fingers in her absence? 

Care: Whence, 

That thou may'st idle must we doubly toil? 
How think'st thou. Faith? 

Faith: We shall have double joy 

In her approval of the ended task. 
Speed thee, good Care. She surely cometh 
soon. 

Malice: Wherefore her haste, when she may 
stay and stuff 
Her hungry ears with news of Happiness? 

Care : O Heavens ! I would I were a queen ! 

Malice: Naught more? 

Plait thee a galling crown of thy life's thorns, 
And wear them regally in all men's sight 
Upon thy brow, in lieu of next thy heart; 
Thus shalt thou ape Earth's queens. To be 

high-placed, 
Is to become a puppet in a show, 
Who but for men's diversion, moves, speaks, 

weeps. 
Wearing its feelings, like its tawdry gems. 
Outside for coarse-grained multitudes' applause. 



sc. II Vita 45 

Faith: Heed not when Malice mocks. To be 
a queen 
Is to make sorrow royal in degree, 
And mirth most generous, since nations share it. 
Why would'st thou be a queen? 

Care: That Happiness 

Might reach e'en me. Methinks one only smile. 
Dropped on my Ufe like sunshine on a seed, 
Would ripen flowers to blossom. But a maid 
So lowly bom as I — how should I dream 
Of Happiness? 

Malice: Dream not. A pity *t is 

When high-strung hearts be joined to low-tuned 

lives. 
It doth put Nature out of harmony. 

Faith: Nay, keep thy lofty longings. They 
are stars 
To steer by as we climb the road to Heaven. 
I, too, have dreamed of Happiness; — such 

dreams ! — 
So fair they made a very day of night. 
Such dreams! Such dazzling, full, sufficient 

dreams 
I am content in the remembering them. 

Malice : 'T is a thin soul that feeds on shadows. 

Care: Hush! 

Our Mistress! 

{Enter Vita. The maidens spring to offer her 
flowers f and place garlands about her dress.) 

Vita: Haste! And ply your uttermost 



46 Vita ACT I 

Of skill. I would be fair this day. A glass' 
Faith {kneeling before her and looking lovingly 
up at her) : I '11 be thy glass to tell thee thou 
art fair. 
Malice {to Vita) : Because she thinks as 
thou dost, being so true 
A reflector of thyself! Thy mirror, sure, 
Doth prove thee fairest with none other by. 
Care : Too pale, too wan thou art. And here 's 
a tress 
Shall soon show silver for its wonted gold. 
Vita: Where? Where? Must I already flaunt 

Time's flag? 
Faith : Dear Lady, I will lay the wreaths so 
close 
Naught else may show. 

Vita : Ay, wrap me up in bloom. 

Hide my poor faults with fragrant overgrowths. 
Touch every blemish with such tender art 
It turn to beauty, making me more fair 
For glory of misfortunes garlanded. 

Malice : Fittest were roses with their thorny 
sweets. 
For such disguisement. 

Vita: Bring my richest robe. 

Faith {bringing mantle) : Ere dawns the morrow, 

richer may this be 
For joys it shall to-day inherit. 

Malice : Nay, 

If garments keep the good of bygone hours, 



SC. II 



Vita 47 



Then rags be choicest vestment for a prince. 
Care (examining mantle) : Here soon shall be a 
rent. Here lurks a stain. 

Malice : Where tears fell, likest. 

Faith: The more surely then 

Are smiles erelong to follow. Whilst it storms, 
May seers be boldest in predicting sun. 

Vita: My jewel case! 

Care {turning over the jewels): Alas! Here 
lacks a gem. 

Vita (fastening on necklace): Doth this 
become me? 

Malice: Troth, as dew the briar. 

Vita (fastening on different jewels) : And these ? 

Care: Thou wilt overload thyself. Thy love 
Will know not if he look on gems or thee. 

Vita : That love which doth not see me in my 
gems, 
Distinguishing the fashion of my soul 
Through all the outward trickery of dress 
And mummery of custom, holding these 
As part of me and not disguise of me. 
That love were small worth having. 

Malice: Why, in truth, 

If thou and these thy jewels make but one. 
Now art thou well worth loving. 

Vita: Prithee, peace, 

Thou wasp-tongued Malice! 

Malice : Heed ! Thy love may hear, 

And hold thy speech to be such part of thee. 



48 Vita 



ACT I 



He choose not take thee with it. (Going) Ah, 

vain fool,' 
Decking thy poor conceit with buds and gems ! 
May Happiness be lured with baits like these? 

(Exit.) 
Care: I doubt there *s such a thing as 

Happiness. 
*T is but the name of some dear, hopeless hope 
That men do bind their souls with when they 

bleed, 

To stay the bleeding, though it heal them not. 

I '11 think no more on Happiness. The dream 

Hath sure no mating with reality. (Exit.) 

Vita : My heart turns chill with sudden doubt, 

as when 
A drifting cloud, eclipsing the sweet sun, 
Drops its cold shadow o 'er a startled land. 
O Faith, is verily the world so void? 
Is there no Happiness this side of Heaven? 
Does Death hold Hfe^s whole guerdon? Speak! 

Oh, speak! 
Faith: Ah, Lady, have I knowledge more 

than thou? 
The world is vast, and all its vexing roads 
Round out through darkness to an unseen goal, 
While men grope here and there with helpless 

hands, 
Crying: Lo this — ^lo that — ^is Happiness! 
And clutch at strangest phantoms. Yet some- 
where — 



sc. II Vita 49 

I needs believe it, or the doubt would kill, — 

Somewhere, e'en here, is a true Happiness 

That true hearts find and live by. The good 

God 
Withholds not all His gifts , from Earth for 
Heaven. 

Vita : O Faith, thou sweetest voice to dumbest 
souls. 
Thou lantern-light to stumbling feet, — abide, 
Abide thou with me now and evermore! 
{Enter Care and Malice.) 

Malice: Lo, Happiness approacheth! 

Vita: Ah, then, go! 

Leave me! Go all! I fain would be alone 
To dream that dream ecstatic which precedes 
The waking of attainment. 

Faith : Dream in peace. {Exit.) 

Care: Nay, rouse thee from thy trance! 
Is Happiness 
So lightly thine, — so swiftly, surely won? 

Vita : Let the fear lie. Why fret the living hour 
With dread of unborn moments? 

Malice: Blind, oh, blind! 

To Truth, not thee, he comes. Since when 

proved Truth 
So mean a rival? 

Vita: Truth is hidden deep. 

Not his to find her. 

Malice: But who seeks for Truth. 

Is lost to thee. 



50 Vita ACT I 

Vita: Yet sure he goes not far. 

Care: Thou hast deep drunken at Faith's 
fount. Beware 
Thy hope imperil not thy caution. 

Malice : Ay, 

No prayer can stay him an he choose to go; 
Yet if he go, no hope may follow him. 

Vita: Ah, if he leave me, could my charmed 
feet 
Refrain from following after in the trace 
However faint and far of Happiness? 

Malice: There is no path so all-intolerable 
As that we tread where Happiness hath been 
And is not. 

Vita: Prithee keep thy bitter thoughts 
For thine own soul's digesting, and go hence! 
Why augur loss of what not yet I have? 
What though the dream prove vain ? It is most 

sweet ; 
And I will feast upon it while it lasts. 
Nor brook starvation in its turn the worse! 
I wiU not hearken more. Away! Go! Go! 

Care: I go. But not for long. (Exit.) 

Malice: I will be nigh. (Exit.) 

Vita (alone) : Now beauteous dream, return ! 
Now steep my soul 
In Earth's divinest rapture — Happiness 
Not fully come, but speeding on bright wings 
Across the boundless desert of desire, 
So swiftly there 's but space to say : I wait ! 



sc. II Vita 51 

So surely there 's no doubt to mar; yet still 
Too far to surfeit with possession; like 
That royal hunger heralding a feast, 
Which waxes poorer for the feeding o' it. 
Ah, very heart of ecstasy — to know 
Fulfilment nigh, yet still anticipate! 
{Enter Happiness.) 
Happiness: Not here! 
Vita (trembling): O Heavens! Can this be 

Happiness? 
Happiness: Am I so strange to look upon 
that one 
Should know me not? I pray thee, where is 
Truth? 
Vita: Nay, hold! How know'st thou Truth? 
Happiness : Through love of her. 

Vita: How camest thou to love her? 
Happiness: Seeking her, 

I loved her. 
Vita: Thou wilt find her not. 

Happiness: I shall. 

Vita: Then stay! Give o'er the quest! 

For I am she. 
Happiness: Soil not thy sweet mouth with 
so sad a lie. 
Farewell. 
Vita: Stay! Stay! How knowest thou I 

lie? 
Happiness: Because thou art not Truth. 
Vita: How canst thou know? 



52 Vita ACT I 

Nor thou nor any ever has seen Truth. 
Am I not fair enough? 

Happiness : Too fair by far, 

In outward ornament. 

Vita {flinging off jewels): Cruel! What! 
Am I not sweet enough? 

Happiness: Too sweet by far. 

With borrowed beauty. 

Vita {tearing off flowers): Inexorable! 
Am I not rich enough? 

Happiness : Too rich by far 

In all that is not thee. 

YiTK {throwing off mantle): Inhuman! Look! 
Look on me now! Am I not bare enough, 
And poor enough and plain enough for Truth? 

Happiness: Too plain, too poor, too bare. 
Truth in herself 
Lacks nothing. Thou in everything lack'st 
Truth. 

Vita: Truth! Truth! I hate her! And 
she is not fair! 
For I have seen her — seen she is not fair ! 

Happiness: Thou hast seen Truth? 

Vita: Oh, long — oh, long ago, 

In days when still I knew there was a God, 
And that the stars meant Peace and sometime 

Heaven. 
And then I saw her, and she then was fair, 
But not so fair I long desired her ; 
And soon I did with loathing put her far, 



sc. II Vita 53 

And turn mine eyes from her and speak her not, 
And hate her with worst hatred. 

Happiness: Oh, forsworn 

The eyes that having looked on Truth, see 

aught, 
Love aught besides save Truth for ever more! 
Lo, I have seen her not ; yet shrined within 
Mine inmost soul her holy image lies, 
Peerless, transcendent, perfect, holding me 
From thought and breath, save thought and 

breath for her. 
Where bideth she? 

Vita: I know not. Time long since 

Concealed her, and I wearied not to seek, 
Cared not to know. What matters it to me, 
Who have one passion only in my breast, 
A riotous love, beating through tortured veins — ■ 
A fierce mad flame — a lurid gluttonous fire 
Of devastating glory — a white heat 
Of living death that robes me as for Heaven 
In blinding light, to leave me at the last 
A thing of ashes in a world-wide waste! 

Happiness: I pity thee. And so farewell 
again. 

Vita: Nay, nay! oh, stay! oh, leave me 
not — not now — 
Dear Happiness! One little moment more 
Let me but look on thee, let me but fill 
Mine eyes so full of the rare sight of thee, 
They hold thee in thine absence uneff aced ! 



54 Vita ACT I 

Happiness: Peace come to thee. And a 
third time farewell. 

Vita (kneeling): God! O God! May I 
entreat Thee not? 
Must I see Happiness depart from me, 
Nor fling such mighty prayers out on the way 
He dare not pass them? Let me bind him down 
With prayers, with linked petitions laid so close 
He cannot leave me ! 

Happiness: Peace, poor Vita, peace! 

No prayer so perfect is, no faith so strong 
It can lay lasting hold on Happiness. 
I go. Forbear thy weeping. Tears are wings 
That speed my going. Fare thee well. 

(Exit.) 

Vita: Gone! Gone! 

And all my heart cries out: For ever! — What? 
Weep not? — I will pierce Heaven with my cries! 
Will storm God's Throne with clamorous appeal, 
Compelling mercy for my wretchedness! 
O God, was it so much I asked of Thee 
Thou could'st not grant it to a lifetime's suit? 
Would it have beggared Thee of Happiness 
Bestowing but this single boon I craved? 
Hear! Hear! Or art Thou deaf, and Heaven 

so far 
All prayers fall short of Thee? Did'st Thou 

concede 
Me being, but that I might curse the gift? 
Can Thy omnipotence do naught, save stamp 



sc. II Vita 55 

Self-consciousness of frailty on me? Nay, 
Not so I learned to know Thee — oh, not so! 
They told me God meant Mercy, Patience, Love, 
And infinite Compassion, — ^not Despair! — 
Not a divine Inexorability 

Rebellious souls should beat and break against 
In weak antagonism! — O God — God — 
Forgive the hatred of a broken heart! 
Forgive the madness of a misery 
That knows not what it speaks! Forgive! 
Forgive! 

{Enter Malice, Faith and Care.) 
M/xiCE : I heard thee from afar. What mean 

thy cries? 
Faith {raising up Vita) : Oh, my loved mis- 
tress, what hath come to thee? 
Care {picking up jewels): Shattered and 

bruised beyond repair! 
Vita: Ay. Ay. 

Like hearts that soared too high, and falling, 
broke. 
Faith {gathering up the flowers) : Nay, see, 

these yet are sweet. 
Vita : Like scattered hopes 

That shall not bloom again through all the years ; 
Yet sweet — ay, perilous sweet unto the end. 
Faith {lifting the mantle): And this; thou 

yet canst wear it. 
Vita {dashing it off) : Never more ! 

There leave it to be trodden underfoot ! 



56 Vita ACT I 

Never again shall I stand decked in gems 

And flowers, and plume me on my sumptuous- 

ness! 
The dream is broken, and the charm mis- 
wrought. 
Poor flowers {lifting them). So slight? so frail? 

that yet me-seemed 
Fit snares for Happiness! Poor futile gems! 

(Raising them.) 
So valueless? Oh, ineffectual wealth! 
(Spurning them with her foot.) 
How worthless, ah, how vain — how impotent 
To win me Happiness! 

Faith : Nay then, dear Heart, 

Is Happiness too far to follow? 

Vita: Ay. 

Faint hearts are leaden-soled. He is too far. 
Malice: Too far. Nor ever is too near to 

miss. 
Faith: Mistress, would'st thou seek? I 

go with thee. 
Vita: Ah me, but whither go — but whither 
turn? 
How follow footsteps that have left no trace? 
Malice: He sure goes free of heart that 

treads so light ! 
Vita: In quest of Truth he went. 
Faith: Then seeking Truth, 

Must we find Happiness. 

Care : The way is far. 



sc. II Vita 57 

Faith: But Time shall lead us, and an end 

must be. 
Vita: Ay, let us go. Although the way be 
long, 
Were failure bitterer at life's blunted end 
Than at its keen beginning? There our chance! 
Better to risk content on the poor hope 
Of winning more, than stay ourselves on less. 
Go. Go. Make ready. Long the journey 
looms. 



ACT II 

(Scene i — A forest. Night. Happiness alone.) 
Happiness: O Truth, where art thou? In 
the whole wide heaven 
Is there no polar star that points to thee 
Immovably, through all of lapsing time? — 
No magnet in the whole vast universe 
To draw to thee through trackless distances? 
O Truth, hast thou no voice to call to me 
Athwart the dark, that I come where thou art? 
No clue to aid me — no firm woven thread 
To guide me through Hfe's starless labyrinth? 
Truth, answer! Art thou living whom I seek? 
Or art thou but a name — a phantom thing 
To lure men to destruction with false show? 
Nay! Nay! Thou livest! Every star that sends 
Its conquering ray across night's black abysm — 
Each sea that, torn with infinite desire, 
Stretches its seeking arms out toward the shore — 
Each storm that sweeps, magnificent and bold, 
With fringe of lightning, scimitar of rain 
And crown of massive darkness, like a king 
Across the humbled land — each summer eve 
That pours its stillness and its angel calm 
58 



ACT ii-sc. I Vita 59 

Upon the restless pulses of the day — 

Each is thy witness, each thine evidence, 

Speaking in utterance distinct and clear 

To the blest soul that loves thee, blest enough 

In that it love thee, though it find thee not. 

But I will win ! No height so dizzy is, 

No precipice so sheer, gulf so profound. 

Gloom so intense that it shall fright me back! 

With love to light me, reason for a staff 

And God for Guide, how fail of Truth's award? 

Courage, faint heart! Wing thy slow feet with 

prayer, 
Lift thy bowed head, and onward to the goal! 

{Exit) 
{Enter Time, Vita, and Court.) 
History: It hath been said of him he passed 

by here. 
Care: Oh, sorry guide, who present hope 
would hale 
From so dead past! Hath ever it been told 
That Happiness returned the way he went? 
Vita: Methought I saw him but a moment 

since. 
Time: Thou should'st have held the moment. 
Fled, may Time 
With utmost swiftness no more reach thereto. 
Faith: Then let it pass. Another comes as 

sweet. 
1ST Courtier: Whither went Happiness? 
2D Courtier: This way! 



6o Vita ACT II 

3D Courtier: No, this! 

2D Courtier : Sure, here are tracks of him. 
3D Courtier: Sure, here he stayed. 

1ST Courtier: Surest of all, here is he not! 
Time : Pass. Pass. 

Courtiers: Which way? 
Time: Forward. I turn not back. 

Vita : Ah me, 

Could' St thou but conjure from the dead that 

hour 
When I beheld him, though he was not mine. 
Should I lack more? 

Faith: Dear Mistress, take thou heart! 
Thou yet shall see him, though the night be 

drear. 
And the way long that bring thee. 

Malice: Long! Long! 

Time: Pass. 

1ST Courtier: Hold, hold! methinks — 
2D Courtier: I would make sure — 

3D Courtier: One glance — 

Time: Pass. 

{Exit Courtiers slowly). 

History : Stay ! The day is not yet written — 

Time: Pass. 

{Exit Time and History, the chorus^ 

too J moving off as it sings.) 

Chorus: 

So they pass, so they pass 
The sweet moments, alas ! 



SC. I 



Vita 6 1 



Tiny seeds of Eternity 

Summoned to birth; 
From the fields of Infinity 

Falling to earth. 
So they pass, so they pass, 
Like a breath on the glass, 

Like a thought in a dream, 

Like a meteor's gleam, 
Holding all mortal time 
As a word holds a rhyme, 

As a heart holds desire. 
Yet though nothing is done in them, 
Nothing is won in them, 
Nothing begun in them 

Ere they expire, 
Will they bide with us longer 
For prayers that wax stronger? 

Nor darkness crawl aftei 

Through tears, or through laughter? 
Nay, death will delay not. 
The moments will stay not. 

Amort and adrift 
As blown leaves in a lane, 

Evanescent and swift 
As the lightning through rain, 

So they pass, so they pass. 

While men cry out, alas! 

{Exit Chorus.) 
Vita: Oh, woe! Oh, woe! What treasured 
joys are theirs 



62 Vita ACT II 

Who thus bewail Hfe's passing? Time is long, 
And Grief is slow, and Death is tardy-paced 
To him whose years hang on his neck like beads 
That he needs tell off one by one in turn, 
With prayers and moans and scoiirgings unto 

blood, 
Ere he may break his fast. 

Malice : With bitter herbs ! 

Care : Longest is life to him who counts the 
time 
Betwixt his labour and the recompense; 
To him who pays the bread of yesterday 
With this day's toil; to him whose bursting 

brain 
Travails in sleep, and works across its dreams, 
And knows no Seventh Day from year to year. 
The weeping doth forget his grief in sleep. 
The hungry dreams, and sitteth at a feast. 
For sick men there grow drugs to dull the pain. 
But for the anxious man, the man of cares. 
Nature provides no anodyne. 

Malice : Save death. 

Vita : All lives are long. The babe that lives 
an hour, 
Hath too much time to weep in. 

Malice : Not enough 

To learn to smile in. 

Faith : Nay, the soul that sees 

The far, pure end of its creation — fair 
To longing sight as flower on lifted stalk 



sc. I Vita 63 

Grown high above the marsh-land whence it 

sprang — 
That soul delights in life, and finds time scant 
For full achievement of allotted powers. 

Vita: They must be either young or far in 

years 
Who joy in life; the young because they still 
See Earth athwart the light they brought from 

Heaven ; 
The old, because at closing of their day 
Death lends his sunset glow to life's grey dome, 
As last relief to long monotony. 
But he who is not young, and ah, not old, 
Who living through youth's exquisite deceits 
Has reached the Desert of Reality, 
And feels its arid winds upon him, sees 
Its white hot dust, its cruel nudity, 
Yet knows no outcome save the path that leads 
Across its dreariness to far-off Death — 
Shall such an one love Life? 

Faith : 'T is piteous 

How men forget a thousand present joys 
Remembering a single pain that pricked. 
And overlook a myriad flowers in bloom 
For grief of one bruised bud! Be not thou so. 
Nor think thyself elected from thy mates 
To royal wretchedness. For Sorrow keeps 
No separating throne where one may sit, 
Crowned with distinction of surpassing pain, 
To rule his kind by might of suffering. 



64 Vita ACT II 

In sorrow all are equal, though men flaunt 
Their martyrdom before the world, or wear 
Their sackcloth hidden under festal robes. 
Then, prithee, smile as thou wert wont to smile! 
Doth Nature not go through her round the 

same 
From year to year, and find as many flowers 
To deck this Spring with as she found the last? 
Yet she hath wept between times. So thou, too, 
Sweet Lady, cast thy dead woe off. Be glad. 

Vita: Can one be happy, without Happiness? 

Faith: Ay. Thou hast looked on Happiness. 
Enough. 
Thou hast henceforth the memory thereof. 

Malice: Why, if thy heart be set on Happi- 
ness, 
Pursue thou not the search? I know of one 
Who sure will aid thee, though all others fail. 

Vita: Thou dost? And whom? 

Malice : That ancient Sorceress, 

Who with her magic and her muttered charms 
Holds half the known world spellbound. 

Vita: Who is she 

Thus potent? 

Malice: Hope. 

Vita: Bring me to her straightway. 

Faith: Lady, pause! I know her. She is 
old 
And potent truly, but may play thee false. 
Not all who seek of Hope win Happiness ! 



sc. II "Vita 65 

Care: I know Hope not. The very name is 

strange. 
Malice: And hadst thou sooner known her, 
thou wert now 
Less age-worn. She hath wondrous mysteries 
That, rightly used, do keep one young for aye. 
Vita: Where lives she? 

Faith: sweet Mistress, trust her not! 

Vita: Why now, what frights thee? She 
who conquers Time 
Must be a right rare witch! Bring me to her. 
Malice: Lady, this way. 

{Exeunt Vita and Malice.) 

Faith {going): Alas! Hope's very name 

Hath wrought its spell 1 Needs must I follow her. 

{Exit.) 
(Scene II — A heart-shaped cave. Hope bend- 
ing over a caldron.) 
Hope {sings): 

Stir ! Stir ! The fire 's ablaze ! 
Throw in Fancy's pungent sprays! 
Sweet deceits and drugs that daze ! 
One part guile, and three parts craze — . 
Hope mixes well — well — well! 

Stir! Stir! Skim off a tear! 
Pluck away a scorching fear! 
Strain a memory out here! 
Lay a spicy maybe near! 

It seasons well — well — well! 



66 Vita ACT II 

Stir! Stir! The caldron steams! 
Pour in visions ! Drop in dreams ! 
Fling in ecstasies, and gleams 
Of a joy that madness seems ! 
It worketh well — well — well! 

Stir ! Stir ! There 's time to spare ! 
Here a wish and there a prayer 
Make a charm that well shall wear! 
Though long weeping wash it bare, 
It holdeth well — well — well! 
{Enter Vita and Malice.) 
Malice: Yonder is Hope, the Sorceress. 
Vita: That, Hope? 

So old is she? 

Malice : Ay, old as birth of man. 

Vita: She hath strange eyes. 
Malice: They look out into mist. 

Vita : She hath a marvellous expression. See. 
Is 't Joy, or Dread, or Pain, or Wonderment, 
Or uttermost Desire? 

Malice: All. It is Hope. 

Vita : Will she be wroth if I bespeak her? 
Malice : Nay, 

None hears more willingly. Call thou on her, 
And I will wait without. (Exit.) 

Vita: Hope! Hope! 

Hope : I hear. 

Hope never sleeps. 
Vita: I need thee, Hope. 



SC. II 



Vita 67 



Hope: Ay. Ay. 

All need me. 

Vita: But my need transcendeth all. 

My frustrate life is done — abortive — dead. 
Its stark days hang along Time's shrivelled stalk, 
Blasted and unfulfilled, like frozen buds; 
And I, while still I make my moan, am not. 

Hope : I will breathe life into thy life. 

Vita: O Hope, 

What were such gift but keener pain? Give 

more, 
Or less. 

Hope : I will fill up thy heart with fire 
That Death alone shall quench. 

Vita: Nay, more, Hope! 

Would'st thou consume me with an inward flame, 
Nor give it aught to feed on? 

Hope : It shall feed 

Upon itself, yet thus consuming, grow. 

Vita : What dost thou grant me but an appetite 
Beyond this earth's appeasing? Give me more, 
Else shall I die of longing's ecstasy, 
And slow despair of gain. 

Hope: What is despair? 

Longing I know, but know not of despair. 

Vita : Teach me, too, to unlearn it ! 

Hope : Where is Hope, 

Is room for no despair. Dost thou want more? 

Vita: This— this — but this! Oh, give me 
Happiness ! 



68 Vita ACT 11 

Hope: The sum of all wants — Happiness. 
Ay. Ay. 
Life's last best secret. Earth's impossible. 
The finite's infinite! Poor fool. Poor fool. 

Vita: Canst help me not? 

Hope : Yea, I can blind thine eyes 

So thou shalt think thou graspest all of Heaven 
With but the upward stretching of a hand. 
Yea, I can bind such sandals to thy feet 
That thou shalt walk o'er sword-blades rood on 

rood 
To pluck a nettle, nor shalt feel the pain. 
Yea, I can teach such bluntness to thine ears 
That thou shalt hear no sound 'neath God's 

great sun, 
Save the mad beatings of thy maddest heart! 

Vita: Kind Heaven, protect me from such 
gifts, O Hope! 
Hast thou but these? 

Hope : Nay, others. I have balm 

To pluck the sting from heart-stabs. Drugs I 

have 
Whereby grief sleeps, and weakness is made 

strength. 
And fear engenders courage. I have charms 
To lure the dying back to life, to keep 
Hearts young for ever, glorify the dark, 
And wreathe dead lips with smiles. 

Vita : Canst do so much 

Thou surely hast some magic yet unspent 



sc. II Vita 69 

That shall restore me Happiness again. 

Hope: What is thy Happiness? Age names 
it Youth. 
Youth names it Folly; Folly, Ignorance, 
And Ignorance, Supremacy. Poor soul! 
But peace! Thou shalt find Happiness again. 
Vita : Dost promise it ? O Hope, I live anew ! 
And then? 

Hope: Peace, peace! What is thy Happi- 
ness? 
Vita: A winged immortal. 
Hope: Take with thee this weed (giving it) 
Wherewith if thou anoint his eyes but once, 
He sees no more to fly. (Sings :) 

Stir ! Stir ! Skim off a tear ! 
Pluck away a scorching fear ! 
Strain a memory out here! 
Lay a spicy maybe near ! 

It seasons well — well — well ! 
Vita: He loves me not. 

What gain I though he fold his wings? For, 

blind, 
How see to love me? 

Hope: Love stark madness is. 

Shed then these petals o'er him (giving 

blossom) . They shall clear 
His sight to lay his blindness on his brain. 
(Sings:) 

Stir ! Stir ! The caldron steams ! 
Pour in visions ! Drop in dreams ! 



70 Vita ACT II 

Fling in ecstasies, and gleams 
Of a joy that madness seems! 
It worketh well — well — well ! 
Vita: But if he see again, yet having wings 
And no more reason, how keep him mine own? 
Hope : O senseless soul ! Then lay thou hold 
on him. 
With the first touch of thine attaining hand 
Shall Happiness become Reality. 
Canst thou ask more? 

Vita: Then let me die for bliss! 

Hope: Then, rather, curse not Hope's be- 
devilment. (Sings:) 
Stir! Stir! The fire 's ablaze ! 
Throw in Fancy's pungent sprays ! 
Sweet deceits and drugs that daze ! 
One part guile and three parts craze — 
Hope mixes well — well — well ! 
Vita : Lo, how thou changest as I look on thee, 
O Hope ! Thou growest young and fair, most fair, 
Most sweet and pleasant to the eye and soul. 
Hope (sings): 

Stir! Stir! There's time to spare! 
Here a wish and there a prayer 
Make a charm that well shall wear ! 
Though long weeping wash it bare. 
It holdeth well — well — well ! 
(Hope disappears in the smoke of the caldron. 
The flame flashes up, dies suddenly out, and all 
is dark and still.) 



sc. II Vita 71 

Vita (in terror): Faith! Faith! Where art 
thou? 

{Enter Faith, running.) 
Faith: Here, for ever here! 

Vita (clinging to her): Leave thou me not! 
Hope was here, and is gone, 
And the dead night breathes blackness and 
despair ! 



ACT III 

(Scene — The forest. After midnight. Vita and 
the Court.) 

Vita {to History) : Hast seen him? 

History: Ay, we have seen trace of him. 

Vita: Is that all one with seeing Happiness? 

Faith : Glimpses there have been of his wings 
afar. 

1ST Courtier: Methought I saw his form, 
but touched him not. 

Vita: How seemed He? 

1st Courtier : Hung with golden ducats round ; 
Heavy with gold; a moving, yellow sheen; 
A dazzling pyramid of wealth. 

2D Courtier: Why nay, 

Not so he showed when once in some swift dream 
I hailed him passing. He was fair and fine, 
But pale and wan, and had a famished look. 
Men called him Fame, methought. 

3D Courtier: And when I dreamed. 

He wore a crown — bespattered, yet a crown. 
And held a sceptre bare of garnishment. 
But studded close with drops of ruby blood, 
And had a grand strong look. Men named him 
Power. 

72 



ACT III Vita 73 

Oh, he did draw me with that magnet look! 
I would have given substance, honour, love — 
All — ^to possess him! But he vanished swift. 
And I came never nigh enough again 
To be assured 't was he. 

History : He hath a shape 

Baffles defining, now comes masked as War, 
And now as Tyranny. 

Care: I know him not; 

But to my weary longing he should look 
A dreamless, ageless Sleep, with slumbrous 

eyes, 
And lips soft-closed on speech. 

Malice: Delusions all! 

Delusions ! 

Faith: I, too, dreamed of him, and dear 
The dream, e'en if he not resemble it — 
A gift of God, whate'er the vision be. 

Vita : But I have seen him. And he is the one 
Desirable of life — life's one Supreme. 
And I have lost him! Endless shows the way, 
And hard the road beneath untutored feet ! — 
The more unsufferable that he once 
Hath passed this way. 

2D Courtier {to ist Courtier) : Look, friend, 
if thou first come 
To Happiness, then give me of thy gold. 
And I, when I reach fame, will render thee 
The grace of having thus befriended one 
In his obscurity. 



74 Vita ACT III 

3D Courtier (to ist and 2D Courtiers) : And 
friends, if luck 
Be yours, spare thou me of thy pelf, and thou 
Loan me repute, and I, when come at last 
Into mine own, will hold ye unforgot. 

Malice: He will remember to cut off your 
heads 
Belike! 

Care (anxiously): It groweth late. How 

longer search? 
History: If I do find him, I will close my 
book 
And write no more. 

3D Courtier (to History): First, prithee, 
note my name. 
Petty the rule ignored of History ! 

2D Courtier: And mine, too, write, lest 
Fame's bay on my brow 
Wither at death. 

1ST Courtier: And my poor name inscribe. 
The richest is not rich, if all not know 't. 

Malice: Nor rich is he, than whom one 

richer lives. 
Care: And I, should chance wing Happiness 
my way, 
Will ask no more than sleep's beatitude. 
But not for me is rest, ah, not for me ! 
They who on laggard, unconsenting feet 
Are driven from the lovely vale of Peace 
To the chill highlands of Anxiety, 



ACT III "Vita 75 

May nevermore revisit that green plain; 
But like the bare tree on the mountain top, 
Set as a beckoning sign for clouds and storms 
And tossed by tireless winds while all else sleeps, 
For ever after wake and watch and dread. 
{Enter Time.) 
Time: Who says forever? Mine alone the 

word. 
Malice: What is not thine, save Happiness! 
Time: On! On! 

Care: O Heavens, where then to look for 
Happiness ! 
Where, where is Happiness ! 

Malice: Beyond the grave. 

{Exeunt Care and Malice.) 

Time: Who loiters that hath my command? 

On! On! 
1ST Courtier: I will get gold yet! {Exit.) 
2D Courtier: And I yet win fame! 

{Exit.) 
3D Courtier : And I will yet have power, or 
die therefor ! {Exit.) 

Faith: Did men seek Goodness with a tithe 
that zeal 
Wherewith they labour after Happiness, 
Who is there but should save his soul alive! 

{Exit.) 
Time: The moment passes. Wanes the 
night. On! On! 
For ever on ! 



76 "Vita ACT III 

History: Oh, tide with no reflux! (Exit.) 

Time {to Vita) : Thou movest not? 

Vita {suddenly returning to Time): Great 
Father, show me Truth ! 

Time: Truth? Truth? Pray what would'st 
thou of Truth at last. 
Who thy Hfe long hast held apart from her, 
Accounting her a thing of evil? 

Vita: Nay, 

I have not loved her since I first knew choice. 
Nor do I now desire her. Nay, oh nay. 
Save that by her I may win Happiness, 
I ne'er should seek her — ne'er should ask to 

know 
In what dark spot and far she lies consigned, 
So from her limiinous vision and deep gaze 
I stood for aye secure ! Yet what last test 
Could fright me from the search for Happi- 
ness? 
I would walk barefoot over blazing coals, 
Of poisoned disappointments prick me full. 
Starve — thirst — freeze — burn, be slaughtered 

piecemeal — ay, 
Make life an hourly hell — all, all, and more. 
For that poor chance of winning Happiness 
In some far day I may not live to see ! 
Wherefore, if Truth bring me to Happiness, 
Dare I face even Truth. I pray thee, then. 
Give up thy long held secret ! Where is Truth ? 

Time: How may Truth help thee? 



ACT III Vita 77 

Vita : Happiness seeks Truth. 

He loves her. Who beloved of Happiness 
Will turn him a deaf ear? Hid ne'er so long, 
Hid ne'er so deep, yet must he come to her, 
Truth yet reveal herself to him who loves. 

Time: And what would 'st thou against it? 

Vita: Alas, what! 

Thy words outstrip my thought. I but devise, 
Knowing so surely Happiness must come 
Where Truth may be, there to conceal myself 
And bide his coming. So shall I once more 
Behold him, once more know him near to me. 
And for the rest — Hope aid me ! 

Time: Hast thou Hope? 

Then to gainsay were idle. Do thy will. 
Who lists to Hope, hears never voice but hers. 

Vita: Bring me to Truth then. Oh, how 
thou art slow 
When wishes fly before thee, how art swift 
When wishes follow! Tell me — where is 
Truth? 

Time {indicating a cave in front of which Vita 
is standing) : Beside thee. 

Vita {starting back): Nay, not here! So 
close at hand! 
So swiftly reached ! 

Time : Not far need be their search, 

Who seek her truly. Yonder darksome way 

Leadeth to Truth and Light. Heaven comfort 

thee. {Exit.) 



78 Vita ACT III 

(Vita draws back from the cave, and watching, 
presently sees Happiness approaching.) 
Vita : Ha, none too soon ! Lo, hither through 

the gloom, 
Led by the lantern of his love and trust, 
Comes Happiness. Now Hope, befriend me, 

Hope! 
(She conceals herself among the trees. Happiness 
draws near,) 
Happines s : Truth ! Truth ! No answer still ? 

Thou art not far. 
I feel thy holy heart -beats through the hush. 
And know thou must be near. How come to 

thee? 
The midnight is unmooned: the forest dense: 
The way unsignalled, and I wander long. 
Where art thou? I have asked the stars for 

thee — 
They whose pure eyes earth's darkest secrets 

pierce. 
I asked thee of the winds, whose odorous wings. 
Soft with the scents of summer's flower-breaths, 
Or salt with foam-flecks torn from scattering 

seas, 
Incessant sweep the earth from pole to pole. 
I asked thee of the streams, whose silver feet, 
Stayed by no fetter, hindered by no bar. 
Search earth's remotest depths. I asked all 

things : 
But each gave answer: Truth is everywhere. 



ACT III "Vita 79 

And so I come no nearer thee. O Truth, 

I weary for thee ! I have called so long 

My voice grows faint. Weak Nature hath no 

strength 
Wherewith to mate her strongest wills. Awhile 
Let me lay by my will, until I rest 
That which though least, yet rules my greater 

part. 

{He sinks upon the ground.) 
Night lies upon mine eyelids like a flower, 
Humid and sweet, endrowsing all my soul; 
And sleep hath flung her lasso round my limbs. 
They move no more, though shadowy shapes 

bend close. 
Wave languorous arms, and beckon me beyond. 
{He falls asleep. Vita appears.) 
Vita: Yea, Sleep hath come to him. And 

with Sleep, I, 
Albeit he called me not. Ah, generous Sleep, 
Who wresting all else from him, makes him mine ! 
But that I lose him not when choice returns, 
I thus obey thee, Hope ! 

{She passes the weed across his eyes.) 

Now Love, dear Love — 
Thou only Love of all mine uncrowned Hfe — 
Awake ! Awake ! 

{She draws hack as he starts to his feet.) 
Happiness {groping as if blind): I hear. 

(listens). Methought one called. 
How blindly dark the night ! I cannot see. 



8o "Vita ACT III 

Who was it called? {Listens.) Where is the 
voice that called? 

Truth, how reach thee through Day's huge 

eclipse? 

1 am distraught with darkness. Speak, oh, 

speak, 
Thou who didst speak before ! I Hsten. Speak ! 
Vita: I called thee. Happiness. 
Happiness: Who art thou? Who? 

I cannot see thee if I know thy face. 
How know 'st thou me? Who art thou? Speak 
again. 

God, can it be Truth? Speak! Art thou 

Truth? 

Vita : Prove me, and see. 

Happiness: How should one hope to find 
Pathway through so in^penetrable Black? 
Art thou, or art thou not? God, give light, 
That I may know if this be she! 

Vita: Hush! Hush! 

1 am she. I am Truth. 

Happiness: Thou? Thou? Art Truth? 

O Heaven, break open ! Let one only ray 
Fall on me from above to clear mine eyes, 
That I may know if this be very Truth 
Or basest Falsehood. How distinguish thee? 
In so vast gloom, who should give judgment rein? 
Oh, this surpasses weakness — ^worsens death — 
This is despair! 

Vita: Fear not. 



ACT III Vita 8 1 

Happiness: Nay, wert thou Truth, 

How should I fear? It is my fear I fear. 
Doubt proves thee false. Wert thou indeed 

that Truth 
I thought thee, should my heart not credit thee. 
And thou to my soul's vision stand revealed 
Through all the dimness of my senses* sight? 
Is Truth not brighter than the moon and stars 
And daytime's sun? How should it then be 

dark 
Where Truth is? Nay. Thou art not Truth. 
Vita: I am. 

Happiness: Nay. For my soul disclaims 
thee. Thou art not. 
I feel Truth near, yet know thou art not she. 
{Turns away.) 
Vita: Hope, Hope, help me! See! He 
goes ! He goes ! 
But still I have a charm. {She tears the flower 
from her breast.) Now, thou blind Seer, 
Hater of all fair Falsehoods for the sake 
Of one lost Truth, behold me with thine eyes. 
Look on me, for my beauty cleave to me, 
If not for Truth's sake ! 

{She flings the flower at him; it breaks over him in a 
shower of petals.) 
Happiness : Ha ! Once more the day ! 

Heavens, I see! And lo, there is no Truth! 
Great God, have mercy on my maddened soul! 

1 stand alone in a blank universe, 

6 



82 "Vita ACT III 

Groping for Truth, and reaching only Lies! 
Oh, give me back my bHndness, gracious Heaven ! 
Better the doubt than the despair! And thou 
Who callest thyself Truth, how hate I thee 
For taking on thyself so sweet a name 
To cover so foul wrong ! There is no Truth, 
No Truth in all the world! It was a dream — 
A heavenly dream — and thou hast marred it! 

Fool- 
Fool that I am ! I have gone mad for Truth, 
And Truth is not, nor aught but madness is! 
O God, what frenzy 's this? My being doth 
Now uncreate itself and turn to void 
If Truth be not! Truth! Truth! Oh, save 

me, Truth! 
{He rushes madly toward the mouth of the cave.) 
Vita {springing to him): Hope, thou de- 
ceiver, help, or he is lost ! 
{She catches the fringe of his mantle.) 
Not so shalt thou escape me, Happiness! 
With these my hands I grasp thee, keep thee, 

thus, 
Making thee mine by very force of will ! 
Thou shalt not leave me! Never! Nevermore! 
Happiness: Lo, reason with thy touch re- 
turns. Thank God. 
And thank thee. Vita. Truth shall yet be mine i 
Vita {looking at him in fear) : Who art thou 
whom I hold? Art Happiness — 
That Happiness, whom only thus to clasp 



ACT III Vita 83 

Once was my dream of Heaven? Art thou that 
he? 

{She relinquishes her hold.) 
Thou hast betrayed me, Hope — undone me, 

Hope! 
Dearer than the possession the desire ! 
Sweeter the dream than the reaHty ! 
{She covers her face with her hands. Enter Time 
and Court.) 
Time: Yonder is Happiness. 
3 Courtiers: That, Happiness? 

Not so I dreamed him ! 

Malice : Is it naught but this 

We made such moan for and such toilsome 
search ? 
Care: Alas, he rests me not! 
Faith {joyfully) : O Happiness, 

Is 't given me to see thee, and so nigh — 
To know thee henceforth what thou rightly art, 
Distinguished from thy baser semblances ! 
History: Can it be yon is Happiness? He 
seems 
Unlike all things e'er named or dreamed as he! 
Faith: Therein his blessedness. What mind 
conceived 
Aught so divine? 

All {discontentedly): And is this what we 
sought? 
This what we laboured for? Not this! Not 
this! 



84 "Vita ACT III 

(They draw back, murmuring. Truth appears 
veiled at the entrance of the cave. Happiness 
flings himself at her feet.) 
Happiness: Truth! Truth! 'Tis thou! 

Thank God, 't is Truth at last ! 
Truth {to Happiness): Thou know'st me? 
Happiness: Verily! With my whole heart, 
Albeit confounded by thy lovehness ! 
Truth {to Vita) : Knowest thou me? 
Yyta {sullenly) :Ye3i. Yea. I know thee well. 
I love thee not, yet must, shamefaced, confess, 
Veiled though thou art, thy features hid from 

me, 
I know thee. Truth, and dare not cry: Begone! 

Truth {to the others) : And know ye me? 
{She turns toward them slowly, lifting her veil, and 
a light streams suddenly out from where she 
stands, illumining the entire stage.) 
History: By all most sacred, no! 

If yon be Truth, then hath my pen thus long 
Been dipped in falsehoods, and indited lies! 
Malice: It hath grown strangely light! 
We do look grey. 
Misshapen, monstrous, seen in so white glare. 
Care: And thou the greyest, ugliest of all! 
Myself shows noble by the side of thee. 
2D Courtier {to ist Courtier): I saw thee 
never rightly till this hour. 
Out on thee for a miser ! Avarice 
Leaves no room in thy soul for Happiness. 



ACT III 



Vita 85 



1ST Courtier {to 3D and 2d): What has 

come over ye? In Truth's strong light 
Thou 'rt but a Traitor! a weak Rhymster thou! 
(Truth still looks at them with lifted veil, and 
confused J all the court withdraws.) 
Time: miserable world! frightened 

fools, 
Stripped a brief space of your lifelong disguise! 
Draw back ! Not yet dare men envisage Truth ! 
Ay, Truth, I know thee! Thou wast given me 
In trust, and I have hid thee from the world. 
Though some bold soiils have dared a glimpse 

at thee. 
And died or maddened for thy sake; and some 
Have hated thee for thy surpassing grace, 
While some have prayed for thee on bended 

knees, 
But with shut eyes, lest sight of thee should 

blast them ! 
Not yet thine hour, Truth! But soon shall 

dawn 
A day when I may bring thee forth unveiled, 
Thy beauty to all earth made manifest, 
God's ultimate, and highest revelation. 
Till then, pass, pass, ye anxious ages, pass! 

(Exit Time slowly.) 
Faith (falling on her knees) : Till then thank 

Heaven, who hath accorded us 
The knowledge that thou Hvest, and the will 
To love thee, long for thee, aspire to thee, 



86 Vita ACT III 

If need be die for thee, O rare sweet Truth ! 
Truth {to Happiness) : Thou hast long sought 

me. Come. I am thine own. 
Happiness {clasping her in his arms): Oh, 
holy moment ! joy vouchsafed of Heaven ! 
Lo, Truth and Happiness are one for aye! 
(Truth drops her veil. The light gradually fades 
away and twilight succeeds, as Happiness 
and Truth disappear together in the cave. 
Vita and Faith are left alone upon the scene. 
Vita throws herself upon her face on the 
ground.) 
Vita: Farewell! Farewell! Farewell! Now 
break, my heart. 
I would have done with life, who thus have done 
With Happiness. cruel Hope and false! 
Oh, bitterest end! supremest wretchedness! 
Oh, masterwork of woe! 

Faith : Hush, thee, oh hush ! 

What life is there but hides the memory 
Of some dead day that once held Happiness? 
What more than this hath Fate for mortal soul— 
The sweet fleet glimpse of some transcending 

bliss. 
With tardy knowledge of a living Truth 
Beyond our present reach? Enough, enough 
Only to follow after; oh enough, 
Seeking for Truth, to know that some far day 
We shall find Truth, and with Truth, Happi- 
ness ! 



ACT III Vita 87 

(Vita ceases weeping, and, lifting her head to 
Faith's shoulder, clings to her, comforted. 
The day broadens.) 
Chorus {behind the scenes) : 

O Life! O Life! O Life! 

What art thou, pray? 
Desire and Fate at strife 

For a brief day. 

A sowing and a reaping ; 

A losing and a keeping ; 

A laughing and a weeping 

Along the way. 

Life! Life! Life! 

What art thou, pray? 
A fleeting moment rife 

With deeds that weigh ; 
A breaking, or a binding; 
A forgetting, or a minding; 
A scattering, or a finding 
Now for alway ! 
{The stage is illumined with a bright light coming 
from Truth's cave, and the curtain falls 
with the last line of the song, leaving Vita and 
Faith with their arms entwined.) 



Baldur the Beautiful 



89 



TO 

EDWARD HUBBARD LITCHFIELD 



91 



THE ARGUMENT 

The subject-matter is furnished by the story 
of Baldur, as told in the Prose Edda. 

In Asgard, the city of the gods, are assembled 
the chief Scandinavian deities, with Odin, their 
father and king, who from his throne overlooking 
space catches occasional disturbing glimpses of 
Muspell, the final Heaven, whence, upon the 
Judgment Day of the gods (Ragnarok), is to 
come the annihilation of the existing hierarchy. 
Baldur, sometimes termed the Apollo of the 
North, one of Odin's sons — ^the ^sir, — ^is the 
god of light and love, or perfection. He is 
warned in dreams of impending peril, and Odin 
endeavours to save him by deputing his mother, 
Frigga, to demand an oath of the universe that 
nothing will do him harm. All take this oath 
except the mistletoe, exempted by Frigga on 
account of its weakness. By means of the 
mistletoe, therefore, Baldur meets his death, 
through the knavery of Loki, the destructive 
principle, better known as the God of Fire. 
Consternation immediately prevails. Valhalla 
being sacred to those slain in battle, Baldur 's 
93 



94 Daldxir tKe Beaiatifial 

soul goes perforce to Hel, and Hermod, another 
of the ^sir, mounted on Odin's wonderful 
eight-legged horse, is sent thither to beg his 
brother's ransom. 

After a terrible journey, bravely endured, 
Hermod reaches Hel. He there obtains from 
its queen, Hela, Loki's abhorrent daughter, 
promise of the surrender of Baldur's soul, upon 
the condition that ever3rthing throughout the 
worlds shall first weep his death. If a single 
creature withhold its tears, Baldur is to remain in 
Hel, for perfect beautyand goodness areto be won 
only through perfect love and unanimous desire. 

Hermod returns to Asgard with renewed hope. 
Odin issues imperative command that all shall 
weep for Baldur, and an unprecedented lamen- 
tation follows. Loki' only, disguised as the hag 
Thaukt, stubbornly refuses to mourn. Hela's 
condition being thereby violated, Baldur's soul 
must remain unredeemed till Ragnarok. Upon 
that future day, as foreseen by Odin alone, a 
battle will be fought in which, after incredible 
marvels, all the gods, including Odin himself, 
will be slain. The universe will then be purified 
by an overwhelming conflagration, and there 
will be created a new Earth and a new Heaven, 
wherein Baldur is to live for ever. Ragnarok 
being, however, still far distant, the world, 
bereft of all that Baldur represents, continues 
unconcerned on its way. 



XHe Ar^iiment 95 

This story, dropped like a jewel among the 
grosser legends of the North, is surely meant to 
typify more than the yearly return of summer, 
as in the Greek myths of Adonis and of Per- 
sephone, to which it is sometimes likened. 
Baldur stands for that perfection of love which 
of itself is light and happiness, and universal 
woe is the unavoidable consequence of his with- 
drawal from the earth. As he can be recalled 
only through unanimous desire, a single un- 
loving soul necessarily defeats the scheme for 
the world's redemption. Not therefore until 
humanity's complete regeneration, can love and 
happiness again reign supreme. 



PRONUNCIATION 



g always hard, like g in go. 

j always like y in yard. 

6 always like oe in Goethe. 

iEsir-A'-ser. 

As'-gard. 

Bifrost-Bl'-frost. 

Fenrir-Fen'-rer. 

Fensalir-Fen'-sa-ler. 

Gjallar-Ge-yal'-lar. 

Gjoll-Ge-yoir. 

Heimdall-Hlme'-dall. 

Idun-E-doon'. 

j6rmungard-Y6r'-mun-gard. 

Loki-Lo'-kee. 

Mid'-gard. 

Mimir-Mim'-er. 

Mod'-gur-dur. 

Mus'-pell. 

Nj6rd-Ne-y6rd'. 

Rag'-na-rok. 

Slelpnir-Slipe'-ner. 

Tyr-Teer. 

Vigrid-Vig'reed. 

Ygg'-dra-sil. 



96 



I 
Death of Baldur 



97 



THE DEATH OP BALDUR 

Long seons past, ere yet was count of time, 
At Asgard, silver city of the gods, 
Bright-built, midway among the blazing suns, 
By Urdar Fount, 'neath mighty Yggdrasil, 
The Ash-tree Yggdrasil, whose branches stretch 
As high as Heaven, whose roots strike deep as 

Hel, 
The iEsir held their court. 

There, on a throne 
Set higher than the highest leap of thought, 
Was Odin, the All-Father, king of gods; 
Whence, at a glance, his vast omniscient eye, 
Midgard, the realm of mortals, overswept 
As 't were a graven tablet at his feet ; 
Thence, too, from Heaven's most southern edge, 

betimes 
Caught the swift flash, intolerably bright, 
Of a flaming falchion, where, by Gimli's Hall, 
Gold-roofed, Surtur, the Mighty, patient sat, 
Guardian of Muspell, ageless Land of Light — 
Muspell, the supreme Heaven, whence at the last 
Should flow the devastating fires of death. 
99 



100 Baldvir tHe Bea-utiful 

And Odin, the All-Father, inly sighed, 
By that fell gleam foreseeing Ragnarok, 
The Dusk-Day of the gods. 

A space below, 
His sons, the lesser gods, the ^sir, sat; 
First Thor, the Thunderer, with belt unloosed, 
His giant mallet like a feather weight 
Reclined across his knee; him following, Njord, 
Who held the master secret of the seas 
And drove the winds in leash ; intrepid Tyr, 
Who lost his bold right hand 'twixt Fenrir's jaws; 
Hermod the Swift, whose foot no dart outsped; 
Bragi the Silver- Mouthed, whose spouse, Idun, 
Stored the gold apples whereof fed the gods 
When hoary age o'ertook them, to renew 
The lustre of their Spring ; Silent Vidar, 
Sandalled with noiselessness ; Hodur the Blind, 
Stronger than seven ; Frey , the God of Peace, 
And Heimdall the White God, the Vigilant, 
Warder of Heaven and of the Gjallar Horn, 
Who heard the grass-blade split the buried seed, 
And saw by night, a score of leagues away. 
Clear as by noon; there, too, dread God of Fire, 
Loki, the false of tongue, falser of heart. 
The fair-faced sire of monsters — of the wolf 
Fenrir, of Hela and of Jormungard ; 
And there, best, brightest, wisest, of them all 
The dearest loved, amid his brother gods 
Baldur the Beautiful, surnamed the Good, 
Moved, dazzling, like a flame. 



The Death of Baldvir loi 

What favoured tongue, 
Wonted to godly measures, should avail 
To tell his loveliness, his strength, his grace — 
Baldur the Beautiful? No whitest flower 
So white was as his brow. No snow that lay- 
New fallen in the sun so lucent showed. 
Moulded of light he was. His radiant soul 
Shone through him star-like. Day broke when 

he came. 
And Night was not, nor memory of gloom. 
As silver rays trembling on twilight seas 
Follow the flying moon, so shadowed him 
A Heaven of love and joy, and the ^sir all. 
Save one, the Dread Destroyer, held him dear 
Beyond their breath of being. 

Ages thus 
Uncounted passed in Asgard, where the gods 
Each day held council, dauntless galloping 
Their fiery coursers, moonstone white, uncurbed 
Over the Bridge Bifrost, the Rainbow Bridge 
That spanned the cloudy gulf 'twixt Earth and 

Heaven. 
And there, the convocation at an end, 
Supine beneath deep-branching Yggdrasil, 
Content they hearkened, while, to pleasure 

them, 
Baldur the Beautiful sang songs more sweet 
Than his who moved the stones of Thebes in line, 
Or his whose loftier lyre built lofty Troy. 
Of middays Baldur sang — of hot noontides 



102 Baldur tHe Bea\itifvil 

Thrilled through with pulsing gold; of silver 

streams 
Set thick with diamonds that mocked the sun; 
Of ivory blossoms gleaming 'mid the green 
Like drifted summer snow; of marshalled 

clouds — 
The sunset's standard bearers; of white gulls 
Like jewelled arrows shot across the blue; 
Of stars ; of mellow moons ; of all things bright 
And warm and glad . Entranced the ^sir heard ; 
And as a hummingbird above the bloom 
Light poised on murmuring wing, with accurate? 

thrust 
Of rapier-beak straight to its luscious heart 
Gathers its one sweet drop, so breath by breath 
They drank the honey of each dulcet song. 
Then, on a day, there broke across the strain, 
Marring its ecstasy, discordant notes 
Of conflict and of darkness, that on ears 
Used but to joy struck wonder, as when rain 
Drops from an undimmed sky. Thus Baldur 

sang: 

Daybreak 

Arouse thee, Day, and reconquer thy world! 
Night's challenging banners, triumphant un- 
furled, 

Float wide on the somnolent breeze. 
The valleys lie muffled and misty in sleep. 



TKe DeatK of Daldxir 103 

Grey shadows, like dream-ghosts, uncertainly 

creep 

'er the face of the shuddering seas. 
Arouse thee ! Undo the enchantments of Night ! 
With tremulous pulsings and breathings of Hght, 

Pursue as he fainting retires. 
Pluck the reddening rays from thine opaHne 

quivers ! 
Slant them up at the last of the stars where it 

shivers 

In the ash of its faltering fires. 
Unfasten thy curtainings, fold upon fold. 
Set wider thy floodgates of billowy gold. 
Lo, the lark is awake. He is calling thy name 
From the quivering heights where the clouds are 

aflame, 

Ere follow the full-throated choirs. 
The tops of the listening trees are athrill 
With desire for the stir of thy step on the hill. 
For thy quickening glance o'er the hush of the 

plain. 
Come, crowned and engirdled with uttermost 

splendour, 
Thy glorious soul undismayed to surrender 
In a breathless outburst of magnificent pain. 
Re-kindle the worlds with thy limitless light. 
Stand forth in unparalleled lustre and might, 
Every fear to dispel, every shadow to slay, 
O invincible Day ! 



104 Baldxir tKe Bea\jtif\il 

Then peerless Odin, bending from above, 
Asked whence those melancholy notes of dread 
And gloom came, darkling, to the canticle? 
And Baldur, all unwilling, yet compelled 
By that vast eye that had his soul in bonds, 
Of haunting visions told that teased his rest, 
Dire dreams, foretelling peril even of life, 
Whispered by Elves of Darkness in the hours 
When Sleep unlocks the inner ear to sounds 
Day overspeaks — dreams ill beyond concept, 
Eclipsing the sweet Hght of all his noons 
With hideous portents, laying malignant spell 
Athwart Hfe's secret tides. Blood ebbed, breath 

failed 
Before his menaced doom, though whence the 

threat, 
Or what the unnatural skill should compass it, 
He nothing knew. 

The ^sir, sore perplext, 
Pondered the monstrous tale. As when a wind 
Strikes the calm sea, wrinkling its satin plane 
With casual ripples that confusedly 
Quiver and cross, till met and intermixt. 
In gradual waves the tangled lines press on 
Under one impulse goaded, each from each 
So gathering impetus that, at the last. 
Grown into billows swollen to giant strength, 
From shore to shore they plough the ocean's 

heart — 
Thus dread of boded harm to Baldur, first 



THe DeatK of Baldur 105 

Uneasily the ^sir's senses stirred, 
Then waxed to full possession. 

Now again 
Spake Odin the All-Father, king of gods; 
And as through angry mutterings of storm 
The solemn roll of thunder breaks afar. 
Resolving all sounds else to silence, so 
His voice fell o'er them, and they hushed to hear. 

Thus he decreed; that straightway should be 

had 
From fire, air, water, ether, iron, stone — 
From Earth and every ore within her keep — 
From all that crawled, or walked, or flew — from 

all 
That being had on land, in sea, or air, 
In each and every star — ^from all wherein 
Flowed blood, stirred sap, coursed ichor — yea, 

from all 
That moved or moved not, breathed or breathed 

not, was 
Or was not — oath that none would work him 

harm, 
Baldur the Beautiful. Thus should his days 
Be free from motived ill. And since of all 
Love's manifested fashionings, motherhood 
Most unalloyed, most flawless, swiftest was 
To see and do, nor spare itself in doing. 
The mission this commandment to proclaim 
Accorded should be Frigga — her who bore 



io6 Bald\ir tHe Bea-utiful 

With gladsome throes to Odin this his son, 
Baldur, the best beloved. 

The ^sir heard 
Rejoicing, while, as ice melts under noon, 
Their fear went from them. Then, as fallen 

leaves 
In drear dead ranks, whipped by a sudden gust, 
Swirl from the ground instinct with winged life, 
So swept they forth on that behest, to seek 
The goddess in her dwelling — Fensalir, 
Built of red gold, roofed o'er with silver shields — 
Breathless o'ersprang the threshold, breathless 

told 
Their message where she sat serene and still, 
Her face the face of perfect motherhood. 
Her deep eyes glowing with love satisfied 
And full. Ere yet the rush of words was done, 
Her heart had sucked it dry of argument, 
Leaving but sterile sounds. And lo ! before 
Their anxious eyes could look again, the place 
Was bare of her as of a light blown out, 
And she had touched the extremest of the 

stars. 
Bent on her wondrous task. So swift of wing 
Is mother-love. 

Then Baldur sang of her 
This slender song — ^for that which fills the heart 
Must voice itself, or turn to heaviness — 
Though fain his insufficient lute had found 
A fuller measure, fitted to the theme. 



THe DeatH of Dald\jir 107 

Frigga 

Great Mother-Heart, one with infinity, 

And old when stars were young, 
Though all the gods together sang of thee. 

The best were still unsung. 

The surge of myriad seas is in thy veins. 

Thy rhythmic pulses beat 
Harmonious with Heaven's eternal strains. 

Its winds are in thy feet. 

Ruthless as Fate thou art ; a fierce typhoon 

When worlds thy path defy ; 
Yet tender as the touch of summer moon 

Where sleeping lilies lie. 

Oh, love transcendent, vast as breadth and 
length 

Of space beyond the spheres. 
And mighty with the garnered grace and strength 

Of all the mingled years! 

As o'er the land 'twixt widest east and west 

The wings of Day are spread, 
So life lies folded to thine ample breast, 

Nourished and comforted. 



The weighty oath thus had and Baldur free, 
Once more was joy in Asgard. There, for sport 
Meet for high mirth, yet more to honour him 
Naught now might harm, in laughter and in love 



io8 Baldxxr tHe Bea\itifvil 

His brother gods set Baldur in their midst, 

A mark against their weapons' seasoned skill. 

"Stretch forth thine arm," cried one, "that I 

may speed 
My lance between thy fingers. " " Stand secure, ' ' 
Another cried. "This cunning stroke of mine 
Shall lift yon lock from thy resplendent brow." 
"Hold fast!" cried yet a third. "My sword 

shall cleave 
The shadow from thy body." Thus they tried 
Their various worth, and where by chance they 

missed 
Their purposed goal, the weapon fell on him 
Harmless as leaf on pool, or mist on flower. 
And Baldur's smile shone o'er them like a star. 

One only was there 'mid the jocund throng 
Who loved not Baldur — Loki, false of tongue, 
Falser of heart. Doth Night love Day? Doth 

Hate 
Love Love? Rage shook him as his sharpened 

blade 
Shivered and brake against that shining breast, 
Nor left a scar to point how true the aim ; 
And hurled he rock an Ajax might have doomed, 
It fell as light from that uplifted brow 
As 't were a shaken dewdrop. Blind with wrath 
That like red coals upon his eyelids lay. 
He hastened thence, put off his godly form 
And tricked him as a woman bent with years; 



TKe Death of Bald\jr 109 

So sought out Fensalir where Frigga sat 
Serene and still, with eyes that looked afar 
And saw but what was good. 

"Know*st thou," he said, 
"The ^sir hold their concourse?" 

"Ay. What then?" 
Asked Frigga, and her voice was like a chime 
Of silver bells rung in the eventide. 

"Lo, this," he answered her. "A prodigy. 
Their darts they fling at Baldur — nay, forsooth, 
Naught leave untried, whate 'er the weapon 

chance — 
With vigour of the best, and varied aim. 
Yet harm him not. " 

"Ay ay," the goddess said; 
And her face lightened like the sunlit sea. 
"Naught lives may harm him, for I have the 
oath." 

"The oath?" cried Loki, and with careful ear 
Waited her word. " The oath? Who then hath 
sworn?" 

"All things," quoth Frigga, "saving one alone." 

"That one?" craved Loki, and breathed not for 

thirst 
Of coming knowledge. "Prithee, name it me." 

Calm as the light of moon on mountain fiord, 
When summer sleeps, relaxed, upon the hills. 



no Bald\jr tKe Dea-utif\il 

Was Frigga's smile. "A little shrub, " she said, 
"That grows beside Valhalla — mistletoe 
They call it." 

'And it dared withhold the oath?" 

The deep eyes of the goddess shone with love 
Wide as the universe. "So young it was — 
So pale and weak — I spared its feebleness 
The waste of breath. " 

"It was well done," avowed 
The false of heart ; exultant sallied forth, 
Took back his birthright shape, and straight him 

hied 
Thither where by Valhalla faintly grew 
The little shrub, scarce lifted from the root 
That gave it life, too young, too v/eak to flower. 

Ruthless he brake it from its pliant stem, 
Close hid it in the hollow of his palm, 
And sped him where the ^sir jubilant 
Their sport pursued, Baldur its goal and crown — 
Baldur the perfect, fashioned all of love, 
Baldur the Beautiful, surnamed the Good. 

An arrow's flight away, sad-browed, as one 
By Fate from common joyance set apart, 
Hodur the Blind, stronger than seven, stood, 
His sinewy arms light crossed above his breast. 
Him Loki swift discerned and sv/ifter sought. 
"What dost thou here?" quoth he. "Would'st 
thou alone 



The Death of Baldvir m 

Spare Baldur meed of honour?" 

"Nay, in truth," 
Hodur made answer, " for I love him well; 
He is mine only day, and all my light. 
But weapon have I none; or had I such, 
How should these futile eyes find way to him, 
That see not their own path? " 

"Stay," Loki urged. 
"Take thine allotted pleasure. Lo, this twig — 
Though small, 't is somewhat, truly. Here thou 

hast 't. 
Thy pole star I. Put forth thy matchless 

strength — 
Thine uttermost. Accord him thus much grace." 

Thereat Hodur the Blind, stronger than seven, 
His shadowed countenance relit and glad, 
Cried out in voice new^-tuned to joy: "I, too, 

Baldur, dearer holding thee than all, 

1 fain would show my pride in thee. " So crying. 
As Loki guided him, struck out his arm — 

His sinewy right arm — with strength of seven. 
Speeding the puny missile on its way, 
Unwitting whither. And before the breath 
That shaped the words had spent its gentleness. 
Pierced through and through to the great heart 

of him, 
Baldur the Beautiful lay dead. 

Woe! Woe! 
Ah, woe in Asgard! Woe to all the worlds! 



112 Dald-ur tHe Bea-utifvil 

Death the unconquerable has entered Heaven. 
Black horror shook the air. Chaos uprose 
From farthest Hel, distort and monstrous. 

Fear 
Froze every breath, cast every limb in stone. 
Aghast, undone, the ^sir palsied stood, 
With anguished eyes fast fixt where Baldur 

lay — 
A fallen star, in his own light enshrouded, 
And coffined in the darkness of the world. 
Hodur, alone amid them undistraught, 
Still smiling soft, joy not yet gone from him, 
Hearkened, anticipant, for answering sign. 
Till suddenly the silence smote on him 
As it had been a blow. Doubt, dread, despair 
Gripped him and drave him forward. Thus he 

came, 
Precipitate, with stumbling, senseless feet, 
On Baldur prostrate, bent down groping hands, 
And in the agony of knowledge gave 
His being up, with clamorous groans that rang 
Reverberant through the wide vaults of Heaven. 

Then such a cry went out from all the gods 
As shook the Hel-bound root of Yggdrasil, 
And tore the embedded anchors of the skies 
From every mooring loose. "Woe! Woe!" 

they cried. 
"Baldur the Beautiful! Baldur the Good! 
Baldur, our Brother!" And the universe 



TKe DeatH of Bald\ir 113 

Rocked like a leaf, while on his lonely throne, 
Odin, the All-Father, veiled his stricken face. 

Lo, then, like mariners on Northern seas, 

Who through the rift of storm-rent clouds behold 

The midnight sun, so were the ^sir ware 

Of Frigga in their midst, stiller than death, 

Mantled in such divinity of grief 

That awe fell on them like a mailed hand 

Compelling them to silence, while her words 

So reached their consciousness as if to each 

His own voice whispered to him in his soul. 

"That son most swift, most sure, let him take 

steed 
And spare not spur, nor stay him day nor night 
For love nor hate, for life nor death, until 
He slacken rein in Hel, and there demand 
Ransom for Baldur, so he come again 
To Asgard, that again the worlds have light. 
That Yggdrasil bear leaves, and Heaven be 

Heaven." 

As lightning leaps amid the brooding clouds. 
Out from the ^sir Hermod leapt forthwith — 
Hermod the Fleet, whose foot no wing outflew — 
And swore by Odin's puissant scimitar 
To sate nor thirst nor hunger, nor to seek 
Sleep's intimate refreshment, ere in Hel, 
From Hela, odious ruler of the nine 
Unhappy lands, he won great Baldur back. 



114 Bald\ir tKe Bea\jitiful 

And as at stir of spring's awakening sap 
Boughs bare as bones, flaming to sudden bloom 
Are wreathed halls for hidden choristers 
That fill the air with ecstasy, so Hope 
Flowed re-creating through the iEsir's veins 
At Hermod's oath, and all their blood ran wine. 

From Odin's throne imperious command 
Then came that ash-grey Sleipnir, first of steeds, 
For Frigga's envoy should accoutred be — 
Sleipnir, whom none but Odin yet bestrode — 
Sleipnir the marvellous, the double-limbed, 
Who trod the ether as 't were pastured earth-— 
The swift beyond compare, each leap a flight 
Immeasurable, each breath a molten flame. 
Joyous sprang Hermod to the massive back; 
So, for a pulse beat, in his brothers* sight 
Stood imaged straight as fir on mountain top, 
While to the goddess suppliant eyes he bent, 
Mutely petitioning a signalled grace. 
Then by the look she gave him panoplied 
Against aught ill, he spake in Sleipnir's ear, 
Dropped the loose line upon his stormy mane, 
Struck spur, and vanished like a meteor, whilst 
The iEsir's shout still thundered down the dark. 



II 



The Journey to Hel 



"5 



II 

THE JOURNEY TO HEL 
The iEsiR's Chorus 

Fast! Ride fast! 
Storm rides with thee! 
The shrieking blast 
Thy bugle be, 
The long slant rain 
Of the hurricane 
Thy javeHn. 
The race begin ! 

Be the swiftest star 
Thy chariot wheel; 
The lightning's bar 
Step for thy heel ; 
Yon comet wear 
To plume thy hair; 
'Mid crash and din 
The tilt begin! 

Ride fast! Ride well! 
Death jousts with thee — 
117 



Ii8 Baldvir tKe Bea\jtiful 

The Queen of Hel 
Thine enemy. 
Pay utmost toll 
For Baldur's soul. 
Or die ! Or win ! 
The fight begin! 



Sleipnir sped on. With his first mighty leap, 
Asgard, the bright-built city, silver- walled, 
Shone faintly from the distance, like a gem 
Lost in the gloom; Bifrost, the Rainbow Bridge, 
With burning central rib of ruby fire, 
No more was than a smoking shade ; Midgard, 
A pallor sketched against the dimness. On 
And on rushed Sleipnir, every beat of hoof 
A lightning flash, a whirlwind every breath; 
And high upon him, straight as masted pine, 
Hermod, with brow that bent nor right nor left, 
And proud eyes unaffrighted, while the stars. 
Told off like milestones, measured one by one 
His course through space. 

Now was the outmost sphere 
Only a golden memory dissolved 
In nothingness. His eye where e'er it fell 
Found black, bleak, bitter night — a darkness 

fierce, 
Defiant, treacherous, before advance 
Retreating as a wave retreats, to close 
In after with an all-engulfing rush 



The Journey to Hel 119 

And drown resistance — darkness horrible, 
Massed here and yon in denser blurrings — 

vague 
Colossal shapings supernatural, 
Ungodly and unhuman — ambushed fiends. 
Plotting enormities. 

More swift and more, 
Fleeter than wind, than time, than thought 

itself, 
Sleipnir with Hermod raced adown the dark : 
Nine timeless days fled down the frozen deep — 
Nine days wherein no sun was, midnights all. 
Where was no moon, nor any glint of star, 
Ninefold more bitter grown each sequent hour. 
Caparisoned in sheeted ice the horse : 
Congealed to opals every geyser breath : 
And on his back Hermod, a marble god 
White as the wind- whipped foam, his plumed 

head 
Held high as light on beacon tower, his eyes 
Flinging their challenge fearless on to Hel. 

Nine days he rode — a measureless time of dread 
Unfathomable. Then faintly gleamed at last 
Across the blotted darkness, Hke a thread 
Swung from a spider's loom, the Bridge of Gjoll, 
Spanning Death's turbid river in an arch 
Of tenuous gold; there twenty leagues below. 
The mad, black billows, torn with ghastly pangs, 
Flow whence none know nor whither, flinging far 



120 Bald-ur tHe Bea\jtif\il 

Their jetty spume upon the quavering air. 
Straight o'er the slender scintillating line 
Flew Sleipnir, and each hoofbeat on the gold 
Crashed like a falling tower. At the noise 
Up rose the warder maiden, Modgurdur, 
Unmatched for comeliness and strength. Amazed, 
Hermod she saw, and called to him with voice 
Like rush of mingling waters. "Who art thou 
That, living, ridest sole upon the Bridge, 
Which, yester, five score dead men serried 

crossed. 
And shook it less than thou?*' 

Nor right nor left 
Looked Hermod, nor drew rein, but dropped a 

word 
As sea-gulls, soaring, drop a loosened plume. 
"For Baldur's sake I, Hermod, ride the Way 
Of Death. Hast seen him pass?" 

"Yea, verily. 
It was as Heaven had lightened in my face." 

"What way went he?" 

She signed with lifted arm. 
White-gleaming as 'twixt flying clouds by night 
Shimmers the Milky Way. ' ' Northward, to Hel. 
Yet tarry thou, I prithee." Honey-sweet 
And warm her breath stole through the gloom. 

But left 
Nor right looked Hermod, nor drew rein. And 

on 



THe Jcurney to Hel 121 

Swept Sleipnir, fronting a blast whereto all winds 
That yet had blown were but an idle draught, 
Till, on the farther verge of that abyss 
Whose bottom is the space beyond the stars, 
Loomed up, immense, appalling, mountain high. 
And barbed with poisoned swords that fouled the 

air, 
The hideous, brazen, thrice-barred gates of Hel. 

Down flung him Hermod, tightened girth and 

bit, 
Laughed out, sprang reckless up, once and again 
Cried Baldur's name; then, as an eagle soars 
And swoops, so Sleipnir with gigantic vault 
Cleared the vast pile, nor grazed the topmost 

blade, 
And rooted stood within the drear domain 
Of Death, each strong limb quaking. Down 

from his back 
Leapt Hermod, with triumphant shout that ere 
His foot attained the sod was cut in twain 
Like a snapt harp-string. Silent then and dumb 
Beside his sweating, palpitating horse 
He stood at gaze, unknowing what he saw, 
And for a space the semblance felt of fear. 

Cavernous gloom, like midnight filtering 
Through hollowed ice, cloaked all the desolate 

place 
In mystery of impenetrable shade, 



122 Baldur tHe Bea\jtif\il 

Chill with a cankered damp unpurged by sun, 
A dark no dawn should morrow, in whose hold 
Ambiguous and indeterminate, 
Lurked all imaginable chance of ill — 
A terror of suggestion half conceived. 
And o'er it, like the folded shroud on dead 
Stark breast, lay silence awful, absolute, 
Empty of calm as fear is void of peace, 
A stillness as of anguish-packt suspense 
Before impending doom. 

While thus he stood 
Transfixed, with widened eyes that naught dis- 
cerned, 
Sudden the immensity of loneliness 
Rushed on him, caught him by the throat and 

held 
As 't were a thing alive, and palpable ; 
And lo ! from out the infinite vacancy 
Came to him his own ghost— a self unknown, 
Naked and importune confronting him — 
They two alone in that vast emptiness ; 
And, awed, he looked his bared soul in the face 
And was aghast, knowing it was himself 
He chief est feared. 

As then his sight undimmed, 
Far as the straining eye could reach, he saw 
The torpid ether teem with shadowy souls 
As teems a shaft of sun with sliding motes — 
Myriads and myriads of ignoble souls. 
The miserably dead, unslain in fight. 



The Jovirney to Hel 123 

Thin outlined like a breath upon the air, 
Passing, repassing, helpless wandering, 
Unanchored by desire, intent, or will. 
Ice- wraiths they seemed, blown into vaporous 

shapes 
From grey dissolving mists, noiseless as clouds, 
Each drifting past the other with no sign ; 
Each to the other naught, as winds that meet; 
Each companied in its drear solitude 
By its dead self. 

Astonished, thus he saw, 
And for a moment's shame felt coward fear 
Clutch at his breast. In wrath he freed himself 
From the ungodly thrall; then first perceived 
Through the prodigious dusk a faint far ray 
Of promise strangely sweet, and toward it strode. 
Transcendent waxed the brilliance, and he wot 
Its midmost ecstasy was Baldur's soul. 
Irradiating love and joy and peace 
In rich effulgence, making even in Hel 
A Heaven ineffable. Beside the root 
Of ageless Yggdrasil he glorious stood, 
God of all beauty and all goodness, which 
Eternally are one, his splendour now 
No more obscured by veiling flesh, ablaze 
As the full sun when clouds are overpast. 
Lo, in that light supernal, as within 
A holy womb, had been a miracle 
Of birth. Deep stirred, the root of Yggdrasil, 
The Ash-tree Yggdrasil, branched forth anew; 



124 Bald\jr tKe Bea-utiful 

Dead leaves at the imperious call revived ; 
Soft mosses creeping came with velvet tread ; 
Sweet sim-warmed scents and half-heard wood- 
land sounds 
Indefinite as sea-shell murmurings, 
Made all the air a trembling ravishment ; 
Wan buds awoke, took back their laid-by bloom 
And breathed out shaken raptures; buried 

brooks 
Broke their white tombs, flung their cold cere- 
ments off, 
Leapt laughing to the light, and sang aloud 
The wondrous resurrection song of Spring; 
And one by one, drawn helpless thitherward 
Like sun-sucked mists, the shivering dead souls 
Stretched out pale palms to the celestial gleam, 
And on its burning edge hung quiveringly — 
A nimbus round the flame ; while nigher still, 
Included wholly in its radiance, 
A shape, diverse from these and godlier. 
Depended motionless, so subtly mixt 
With the enfolding light as scarce therefrom 
Discernible, and Hermod knew the beam 
For Hodur's thrice blest soul. 

Near by, in state 
Preposterous, befitting birth so foul — 
Sister to Fenrir and to Jormungard — 
Grim Hela sat, Hel's most ill-favoured Queen, 
Ruler of all unslain on battlefield, 
The ingloriously, pitifully dead: 



THe Journey to Hel 125 

Nor could even Baldur's brightness re-illume 
Her livid form to hue less horrible. 
On Hermod full she bent her rancorous gaze, 
And as the Gorgon's snake-encircled brow 
Transformed to stone who ventured glance 

thereon, 
So blackened Hel at the bare sight of her. 

"How darest thou, unsummoned, with no taint 
Of death upon thee, thus my realm invade?"^ 
The words clashed out like rudely crossing 

swords. 
"What here thy purpose?" 

Courteous he bent 
The knee. "At Frigga's hest, great Queen, I 

come, 
Nor will delay to leave thee, so thou grant 
Baldur the Beautiful with me return— 
Baldur the Beautiful, our best beloved. 
Thus only shall the lamentations cease 
In Asgard where the gods their godhood mock. 
Bewailing him who makes our sum of Heaven." 

Thereat laughed Hela, and upon the sound 

A shudder tore through Hel. "Lo, now," 

scoffed she, 
And harsh her voice as iron meeting iron, 
" Shall I win proof if Baldur verily 
Be loved as thy unbridled speech proclaims. 
Bid everything that draws the breath of life 



126 Baldxir tKe Beavitiful 

Throughout the universe — nay, all that is, 
Ev'n an it breathe not — bid all weep for him, 
Compelling his re-birth with suppliant tears: 
Then to the ^sir will I him restore, 
That Asgard know again its vaunted Heaven, 
And every faded star shine forth anew. 
But doth one only shed no saving drop — 
One only of the seething multitudes 
Refuse that bidden sign — he here remains, 
Unransomed, unredeemed, our flower of Hel." 

"Oh, grace unparalleled! Oh, golden grief, 
Itself the ransom of the woe it weeps ! " 
Cried Hermod, ravished. " unbending Queen, 
The eternal love of all the gladdened worlds 
Reward thy clemency. Baldur is ours! 
Baldur once more is ours!" 

"Nay, by the gods,'* 
Swore Hela, "so soon is it not fulfilled. 
Go thou, for I have said, and it abides. " 
Again she laughed. Again the floor of Hel 
Shook, terrified. 

Hermod on Baldur gazed. 
And Baldur smiled on him; and with the smile 
Shut in his heart, Hermod on Sleipnir sprang. 
Cried to him once: "For Baldur's sake thy 

best!" 
Nor needed second spur; o'erleapt the gates. 
And journeyed back the awful Way of Death. 
But lo! its nameless terrors were as naught; 



THe Jo\jrney to Hel 127 

Nor cold, nor dark, nor any thirst he knew; 
And the long course of starless nights and dawns 
A single perfect moment was to him. 
So did hope master time and circumstance. 

As thus he came to Asgard, silver-built, 
That erst shone in mid-Heaven like a sun, 
Now dull and dim as an unlighted moon. 
The White God, Heimdall, watching from afar, 
Caught up the Gjallar Horn, and blew a blast 
Surpassing ev'n that seven-day trumpet blare 
Laid Palestine's beleaguered city low; 
Twice valorously he blew; and ere 't was done 
Re-echoing mid the stars, the ^sir all 
Across Bifrost, the burning Rainbow Bridge, 
Came swift as meteors flung athwart the sky 
From fiery hearted August's catapult. 
Scarce greater joy Laodamia showed 
Her risen lord, re-lent for three hours' grace. 
Than they to Hermod. The famed Florentine 
On his high pilgrimage was not so sore 
Beset by starving shades for tale of friends 
Long since dispaired, as now the god for word 
Of Baldur; nor more swift those shadows 

plucked 
The whole from scantiest beginnings, than 
The iEsir wrested from him at a breath. 

Then each, in tempered grief, as seers who hail 
The desired end beyond a path of pain, 



128 Baldiar tHe Bea\itiful 

Cried out aloud with meed of moistened lids, 
And struck their spears against their glassy 

shields 
Till all the air was rent with silver sounds; 
While clear above the tempest of their cries 
Rang forth the slow sad strains of Frigga's dirge, 
Tender with longing inexpressible. 

Frigga's Dirge 

Weep, weep for Baldur dead! 
For light, for beauty sped! 
For fairness from all fair things fled! 
Gone is our summer with its flush of flowers, 
Its purpled plains, 
Its sunset stains. 
Gone are its brooks, that babbled in green bowers, 
Its misted dawns, its scented dews and showers, 
Its rainbowed rains — 
The glory of its golden hours 
Endarkened wholly. 
Gone, gone our Hght of Hfe and love! 
No more the iris-breasted dove. 
Melodiously melancholy. 
Croons o 'er its plaint within the curtained grove. 
No daring wing the distance cleaves. 
No moth its gossamer shroud unweaves. 
No wind-awakened, lisping leaves 
Whisper their pleasure o'er and o'er 
As Day unbars her lattice door, 

Night swooning at her knee : 



THe Jovirney to Hel 129 

No more the sunbeam's glittering ball 
Rebounds from silver shield and wall, 
Drops from the dome o'er Gimli's Hall, 
Or flashes from the sea. 
No more ! no more ! 
Evil hath laid its curse 
Across our universe. 
Lost is the god whom we implore. 
Gloom and Despair 
Foul fruitage bear, 
And ice sheets cover 
The stark worlds over. 
Unstarred our eves; unsunned our noons; 
Silent our skalds ; forgot our runes ; 
Da5rtime and night are one. 
Adown the desperate years 
We call with steadfast tears. 
No bitterer Hel can be 
Than Heaven, missing thee, 
Baldur — our life! our sun! 

From highest heights now fell the All-Father's 

voice 
Surcharged with lonciy grief majestical, 
Bidding the gods, as light and life they loved. 
Speed forth whithersoever sun revolved 
Or atom stirred, and cast command abroad 
That all things to full measure of their love 
For Baldur, now bewail him long and sore 
With free-spent tears, if haply by such grace 
9 



130 Baldxir tKe Bea\itiful 

Might Fate and Ragnarok forfended be. 
And with the uttering of that word of dread, 
On a slow sigh the great voice ebbed away, 
As sighs and ceases a receding wave; 
And silence held its breath for what should come. 



Ill 



Ragnarok 



131 



Ill 

RAGNAROK 

No fleeter follows echo on the sound, 
Than sprang the gods at Odin's summons forth, 
Obedience and love conjoined, in speed 
Outvying each his jealous brother god. 
Comets a-race with comets, suns with suns. 
Less swift had traversed space, and in a breath 
Throughout the universe their word was told. 

Grief hath been in the world since time began. 
Life's first and latest birthright ; every soul 
Hides somewhere its unplumbed abyss of pain. 
But never yet was lamentation known 
Like this for Baldur, nor through time to come 
In sorrow's annals shall again be writ. 
No eye withheld the desired sign of dole. 
Not Dante did so weep for Beatrice; 
Not Niobe bedewed her marble feet 
With bitterer tears for all her children slain; 
Nor did forsaken Dido on her pyre 
More plentiful a show of sorrow make. 
Neither were hearts of human mould alone 
Moved to complaint. Even the merciless beasts, 
133 



134 Baldxir tHe Bea\itif\jl 

Missing their moons, most piteous mourned. 

The birds 
Re-tuned their chants to brooding threnodies 
Sad as were his who wept Eurydice. 
Yea, ev'n the careless blundering things that 

creep. 
Or whir, or swim, forgot their fretting wants 
Before that greater want of all the worlds. 
No farthest sun but shed a glittering tear, 
Bedewing arid space with grief. The sky- 
Was all a sprinkle of wet stars. Bifrost 
Pellucid gleamed through veil of jewelled spray. 
The heavy-hearted clouds trailed low, and wept 
In dreary monotone of melancholy; 
Deucalion from Parnassus' sacred peak 
Saw not so sad a flow. The drooping night 
Shook moisture from her plumes. Each dew- 
tipped leaf 
Quivered beneath its load, and every flower 
Treasured within its heart a fragrant tear. 
No grass-blade but uphung the crystal sign. 
No trembling tree but somewhere pricked its 

veins 
And bled an amber drop. The rivers ran 
Hoarse with long sobbing. The disquiet winds 
Wailed out their heartache through the sighing 

pines. 
The pale mists wavering pressed from bole to 

bole 
Like the dim exhalation of a prayer. 



Rag'naroK 135 

The seas upon the shingles crashed and broke, 
Thundering out their woe. The shivering sands 
Whispered their sorrow o'er and o'er again 
In ceaseless repetition through slow hours. 
The heavy breeze crept, damply odorous. 
Along the sodden ground. The very earth — 
The very rocks — sweated and groaned with grief. 
And everywhere uprose the breathless cry — 
"Baldur the Beautiful — ^the Good — return!" 

As now the ^sir, satisfied and sure, 
Their mission well completed, rode at ease 
Their frothing chargers o'er the Bridge Bifrost 
Toward Asgard bent, Bragi the Silver- Mouthed, 
Wand 'ring apart with heedless rein, his lips 
Outbreathing Baldur's name unwittingly 
As when a slumbering bird dreams out a song 
Softer than memoried music, chanced upon 
A quarried cell bewrayed by noisome stench 
From rotting vines and oozing carrion heaps. 
There, 'mid the dizzy shadows and the drip 
Of mouldy walls where moist misshapen things 
Or crawled, or lurked in foul black-crusted webs, 
Squatted inert upon a loathsome mat 
Of woven snakes sat Thaukt, her lurid eyes 
Twin torches lighting up the purple gloom 
With baleful fire that withered aught it touched. 

Bragi, amazed, in haste unhorsed himself. 
And bending his bright head, unhelmeted, 



136 Baldiar tHe Beautifxil 

To match the meaner compass of the vault, 
Found way within, and so contrived his tale 
As best should wing it past a careless ear 
To the heart's full conception. Thaukt, the 

hag- 
She who sat, squalid, on the pulsing mat — 
Unmoved transfixed him with her cold bright eye. 
*' Naught, quick or dead, gain I by gift of tear 
For Baldur slain," churlish she answered him. 
"Let Hela hold what 's hers." 

"Boundless thy gain," 
Bragi avowed, "regaining Baldur 's soul — 
Light for thy murk, beauty and joy and good 
For this thy misery and gracelessness. " 

"To mole or bat the night is fair as noon, " 
Sneered Thaukt . ' ' That which by choice is mine , 

as good 
And beautiful already me beseems. 
I crave not Baldur back. Till Ragnarok 
Let Hela hold what 's hers." 

" Nay, " Bragi urged ; 
And as the wind, with age-long griefs endued, 
Falters and breaks and fails and grieves again. 
So shook his voice, freighted with sympathy. 
" If not for thine own need, grant but a tear 
In pity for the need of all the worlds. " 

"What is 't to me, " she flung athwart his speech 
With snarling tongue, "though craven dogs 
night-long 



RagnaroK 137 

Bay hopeless at the moon? Pities the sea 
The shore its white Hps suck? Pities the storm 
The wheat its sickle slays? Pities the flame 
The thing it feeds upon? Pities the gale 
The leaf, the frost the flower, the worm the fruit? 
Then wherefore I the grief that is not mine?" 

''Not thine?" he challenged. "Sure mine ear 

mistook ! 
Is not one spirit father of the worlds. 
Through heritage of whose informing breath 
All are akin? As rivers seek the main, 
Merged evermore in its immensity, 
Qmckening currents of a common heart. 
So soul seeks soul, blending in brotherhood. 
Eternally interfused, eternally one — 
A single pulse, athrob through myriad veins. 
How then shall not another's woe be thine, 
His pain thy pain, his need thine inmost own?" 

" Not so, " she said. " My life alone is mine. 
Leave me unvext." 

Then he, incredulous 
That thing so weak held power to uncreate 
A scheme so potent, bared of patience, cried: 
•' No life is his alone that lives it ! Each 
Imports to all, and all import to each, 
Bound by the self-same law of fellowship 
That links the suns each to his neighbour star. 
Who art thou that deniest brotherhood? 



138 Baldiir tKe Bea\itif\jl 

How hast so unlearnt love, forgot compassion, 
Severed the time-old chain 'twixt thee and thine? 
Who art thou?" 

"By thy showing, Hate am I, 
And Misery my chosen dwelling-place," 
Gibing she answered from the hissing snakes. 
" Curse thee, begone ! Room is not in my breast 
For love, nor pity, nor desire of good." 

" Now by my sword that leaps within its sheath, 
Here will I slay thee in thy monster blood ! ' ' 
Swore Bragi, fiercely gripped with sudden wrath. 
Then calmer spake, minded her yet to win. 
"I err. Forgive. Hate slain were not love 

shown. 
Naught boots thy death. Flawless and perfect 

love 
Alone may ransom Baldur's perfect soul. 
How win thee to that love? How pity teach 
For need thou hast not known?" 

Lo, as he ceased, 
And silence fell between them for a space. 
From Midgard rose the sorrowing peoples' cry, 
A low sad plaint bewailed from star to star, 
And lost upon the void in shattered sounds. 

The Cry of the Peoples 

Splendour of all the worlds, O Light 
The brightest suns transcending, 
Vast as thy glory is our night 



Rag'naroK 139 

Unstarlit and unending. 
Like wandering souls a-craze with thirst 

From waste savannas crying, 
By phantom oases accurst, 

Who dream they drink while dying, 
So we, blind-eyed and terror-bound, 

Groping through gloom supernal, 
Dream that our faltering feet have found 

Source of thy springs eternal. 

Splendour of all the unsunned spheres, 

Shine down these desert spaces ! 
Strike from our souls the numbing fears — 

The horror from our faces. 
Darkness entombs us as in stone. 

Heart sealed from heart for ever. 
Each wind-breath bears a smothered moan. 

Hope lifts her beacon never. 
Oh, though all else the Norns deny. 

Allow our last petition ! 
Light! Light! Give Hght, or grant we die! 

Death — or immortal vision ! 



"Didst heed?" asked Bragi. "Needs there 

aught beside? 
Canst still withhold the succour of thy tears?" 

"Avaunt!" she said, and spat upon the ground. 
*' Thou weariest me. " And through grim lower- 
ing lids 



140 Daldi-ur tHe Dea\itif\il 

Her fiery eyes burned knowledge in on him. 

" Loki ! " appalled he cried. " Loki ! Loki ! 
For all thy strange misshapement, it is thou! 
Loki! O Cruelty incorporate! 
Oh, blacker than the blasted Elves of Dark 1 
Accurst! Accurst!" 

" That which I am, I am 
Immortally. Hela shall keep her own," 
Said Thaukt, and malice glittered in her face. 
And now not Thaukt, but Loki, towered there, 
His beauteous form upon the coiling snakes 
Mounted as on a throne, his evil eyes 
Lit with the inextinguishable fire 
Of hate triumphant, his god's shape distort 
With joy ungodly, power maHgnant, grace 
Ungraced, beauty for aye undeified. 
And Bragi knew — ^the certitude proclaimed 
As by a searing bolt — Baldur the Good 
For ever lost to Asgard. Thereupon, 
Voicing an unendurable despair, 
From his racked breast broke cry so piercing 

shrill 
That all the homeward- wending ^sir heard. 
Dismayed, quick scenting sorrow and defeat, 
They flung their chargers round, and straight 

and swift. 
As shredded clouds that fly before the gale. 
Sought out the sound, and at the cavern's mouth 
Formed crescent-wise, a glistening company 



Ra^naroK 141 

Of shining shields, their lifted lances like 
A silver palisade, each splendid brow 
In miserable suspicion sternly set. 

There, at their hands, justly unmerciful, 
Loki, as once Prometheus, met his doom — 
To three torn crags bound trebly fast with 

thongs 
From out his agonising vitals wrought, 
While close suspended o'er his shuddering flesh, 
A serpent drop by drop spilled down its gall. 
And as the isles shook when Enceladus 
'Neath ^tna stirred, so quaked the palsied world 
At every throb of his tormented frame. 



O Ragnarok! Twilight of the gods! 
O Day of Odin feared ! Till Ragnarok 
Shall Loki's doom endure. Till Ragnarok 
Shall Hel hold Baldur. Odin, Odin alone, 
The great All-Father, in his prescient heart 
Foresees its boded terrors. Bitter woe 
Shall herald that late dawning; horror and 

crime 
Shall walk the highway bare and unashamed, 
Kinship forgotten in fierce greed of gain. 
Then seasons of unconquerable cold shall be 
Such as no land e'er wintered — glacial frosts. 
Tumultuous sword-edged winds, unhallowed 

skies, 



142 Baldur tKe Bea\itif\il 

And snows from all four corners of the world, 
With flakes as linted clouds. Then prodigies 
Vast and calamitous shall follow swift — 
Fenrir, the giant wolf, swallow the sun, 
Hati devour the moon, and Jormungard 
Vomit envenomed floods, stars drop like rain, 
Midgard scatter its hills as dust, its seas 
Toss out as bursting bubbles. In that hour, 
After uncounted ages still to dawn, 
Shall Heaven itself be cleft in twain, and through 
The immeasurable breach, from Muspell, Land 

of Light, 
Shall all her sons come, Surtur at their head, 
Surtur the Mighty, helmed and shod with flame. 
His sword the sun outshining. And beneath 
The tread of that indomitable host, 
Bifrost, the Rainbow Bridge, like shivered glass 
Shall crack and splinter. 

Then shall Heimdall seize 
The Gjallar Horn, and blow a hideous blast — 
The cry of ultimate fear, whose note of doom, 
Beating from frightened world to world, shall 

die 
In utter wastes beyond. Even Yggdrasil 
Shall tremble through its branched and rooted 

length. 
In that dread day of Ragnarok shall naught 
Be unpossessed of terror. 

Nathless, led 
By Odin the All-Father, king of gods. 



RagnaroK 1 43 

Arrayed for death in timeless majesty, 

The ^sir, with Valhalla's warriors, 

Shall range them on the bewildering battlefield, 

Vigrid, the field of blood. There shall attend 

Muspell's refulgent band, apart and still, 

Proof-clad in brightness unapproachable. 

And there shall gather all Hel's followers, 

With Loki and his fearful progeny 

Freed from their mammoth chains — Fenrir, the 

wolf. 
The stretch of whose vast jaws encloses Heaven, 
And Jormungard, the serpent, he whose tail 
The round of Earth encircles in its coil. 
And Garm, the dog, worst monster of the three. 

Then dazzled, blinded, frenzied, shall the gods 
Rush on their doom, foe leaping upon foe 
In such a conflict of inordinate strengths 
As since Titanic times, when thunderbolts 
Were arrows, hills were slingstones, hath not yet 
Been known to story. Odin with the wolf 
Shall furiously engage, nor bear himself 
Less resolute than did Olympian Jove 
Contending with Typhoeus for his throne. 
But skill nor valour shall advantage him. 
For as relentless Night upon the Day 
Creeps step by step, beats back the radiant 

shafts 
With huge black bulk opposed, stretches agape 
Stupendous red-rimmed jaws and inch by inch 



144 Bald-ur tHe Bea-utiful 

O'ertakes and swallows up its glory, so, 

With one last straight-armed thrust of flashing 

spear, 
Shall Odin die. 

Then tenfold multiplied 
Shall fury animate the warring hosts. 
Fenrir, sore wounded, shall in Vidar's grip 
Yield his foul breath. Thor, magic-gauntlet ed, 
Shall slaughter Jormungard, and ere his foot 
Hath pressed nine paces onward, shall lie prone, 
Stifled with its black gall. Heimdall shall leap 
On Loki, and they twain, fire blent with fire, 
A blazing one, as one shall fail and sink — 
An extinguished flame. Ev'n thus intrepid Tyr, 
With Garm in combat, shall lie dead beside 
His strangled foe. So each shall seek his mate, 
Inexorably armed with equal rage. 
So each shall fall, victor by victim slain — 
One triumph, one reward, one death for all. 
Alone the sons of Muspell, radiant 
With lustre insupportable, shall still 
Aloof and silent stand, their dazzling breath 
Outblown upon the wind like fiery flowers 
That blossom as they perish. 

Then, ah, then 
Surtur the Mighty shall unfold the gates 
Of the far South ! Swift from the luminous land, 
Muspell, shall pour an incandescent flood 
In mass and brilliance comparable to naught 
The mind hath power to image, that shall sweep 



RagnaroK I45 

From end to end of the wide universe, 
Worlds, with their moons, for fuel piled on worlds ; 
Suns tossed on suns ; systems on systems heaped ; 
Meteors for sparks, comets for kindling straws; 
And at the last, to the minutest ash. 
Extinction absolute; space cleansed and bare. 

So shall the imperfect order of the old 
Be done away, as Odin, king of gods. 
Anguished foreknows; and from the Land of 

Light, 
From the bright bosom of its burning seas, 
Shall rise amain a new fair firmament 
Star-filled : a new sun in the highest Heaven 
More glorious than all the suns that were, 
And a new Earth, lovely and verdurous. 
Whose day shall end not, nor whose summer fade. 
And lo! a new Asgard shall be again. 
With nobler halls, where greater gods shall keep 
A more exalted state. And in their midst, 
Won back from Hel, sceptred and crowned with 

ligbt, 
Baldur the Beautiful shall live for aye, 
And Night, and Hate, and Woe shall be no more. 



This Odin's vast omniscient eye foresees, 
Piercing futurity with wisdom bought 
From Mimir's limpid well, and evermore 



146 Baldur tKe Beautiful 

The knowledge like a wanton weed o'erruns 
The garden of his thoughts. But in his soul 
He shuts the vision close, and dwells apart, 
Disjoined by wisdom, from the multitude. 

Thus still he sits, majestic and remote, 
Upon his disillusioned, darkened throne, 
Watching the moving worlds, aye and anon 
Catching the gleam, intolerably bright. 
From far Muspell; then bows his august head, 
And murmurs: "Ragnarok!" 

And still doth Heimdall blow the Gjallar Horn ; 
And still the -^sir their white horses ride 
Across the Rainbow Bridge with idle shield 
And lowered lance; still meet in Asgard's Halls, 
And under mighty Yggdrasil discourse 
Of great deeds done and greater yet to do — 
Thor with his mallet, Tyr with handless wrist — 
Reck not of Fenrir, nor of Jormungard, 
Safe fettered both, with Garm, the monster dog; 
Laugh when Earth trembles under Loki's throes; 
Taste of Idun's well-guarded golden fruit. 
And, young again, forget dread Ragnarok — 
Somewhat, as swift the centuries slip by, 
Forget ev'n Baldur. 

But, from Fensalir 
Where Frigga sits, who listens close may note 
Day following day, year following year, a sigh 



Ra^naroK 147 

Upon the fainting breeze float softly past, 
May see a tear drop with the dew, may catch 
A distant cry of love unutterable — 
"Baldur! alas! Baldur, my son, my son! 
Baldur the Beautiful ! Alas ! Alas ! " 



The Nun of Kent 

A Historical Drama 



149 



TO 

ROBERT UNDERWOOD JOHNSON 



151 



DRAMATIS PERSON.® 



Monks of Canterbury Priory 



Edward Bocking 

Robert Bering 

Richard Rysby 

Hugh Rich 

Henry Goold 

Cuthbert Vane 

Thomas Cranmer 

Hugh Latimer 

Thomas Cromwell 

Elizabeth, The Nun of Kent 

Mistress Vane, Mother of Cuthbert 

Mistress Cobb, Former Mistress of Elizabeth 

Prison Attendant 



Guards, Soldiers, Friars Mendicant, Observant 
Friars, Peasants, etc. 

The scene is laidj first in Canterbury, and afterward in 
London 



152 



ACT I 

(Scene i — The square outside the Priory chapel of 
Canterbury. Cuthbert standing a little apart. 
Mistress Vane and Mistress Cobb talking, 
A procession of Pilgrims issuing from the 
chapel doors, and continuing to pass, brokenly , 
during the scene. A few peasants leave its 
ranks to join the two women.) 
Old Peasant: A goodly saint, — a goodly 

saint enow! 
Second Peasant {awestruck): Seemed she 

not wrapt and fearsome? 
Third Peasant: Past concept. 

Fourth Peasant: I am a-tremble yet. 
Second Peasant : My knees turn weak 

To think on 't. Where then was her soul, the 

while 
Her body lay there breathless? Was 't in 
Heaven? 
Voices Together: Ay! Ay! 
Third Peasant: Heard 'st thou 

not Father Bocking tell 
Her holy state in paradise, mid sights 
153 



154 TKe Nvin of Rent act i 

And sounds earth scarce may dare to think 
upon? 
Mistress Cobb: Ay, marry, a right fa- 
voured saint is ours. 
Give heed to her. 

Mistress Vane {scornfully): All England 

heeds but her. 
Mistress Cobb: That doth it. Our sweet 
Saint Elizabeth, 
Our saint of Canterbury, Nun of Kent, 
Hath wider fame than any in the land. 

Old Peasant: Who would ha' thought it 
five twelvemonths agone 
Of orphaned Beth, our little village lass? 
Oh, fair enow, but no wise wonderful. 
Nay, ower light, and trifling in her speech. 
Mistress Cobb: Tut, tut! A king needs 
grow through babyhood. 
Yet no less king is when he dons the crown 
Because he erst was hushed on woman's knee 
And fed on pap. 

Cuthbert {turning toward the group): Nor 
she thereby less saint, 
That she hath leapt so sudden to such height? 
Old Peasant: It was a miracle our Lady 

wrought. 
Second Peasant: A miracle in guerdon for 
her faith 
What time that fever lay so hot on her, 
When she did pray our Lady lend her grace. 



sc. I THe Nvin of Rent 155 

: Old Peasant: Wherefore our Lady came, 

and with a touch 
Healed her and made her saint for that her faith. 
CuTHBERT : For that her faith in priests — ^no 
fairer faith! 
'T was the priests sainted her. 

Mistress Cobb: Go to! Go to! 

One reasons not with thee. Thou lost thy lass 
That day we won our blessed saint of Heaven, 
And dost begrudge us her. 

Mistress Vane {proudly) : My son 's no one 

To grudge a maiden to ye. Keep your saint! 

Old Peasant: 'Tis pity, though. He loved 

her sin' so long. 
Cuthbert: Prithee, have done. Thy pity 
runs to waste. 
Our Lady, with that selfsame holy touch 
That sainted Beth, did heal me of my loss. 
I leave thee thy sweet saint. She 's none o' mine. 

{Exit.) 
Old Peasant: Brave words make goodly 

corselets o'er weak hearts. 
Mistress Vane: Beshrewthee! Cuthbert 's 
none to mourn a lass. 
Or make lament for a spoiled kiss or two. 
If Heaven proclaims her for a saint, it sure 
Counts him no lack of honour that he first 
Won her whom Heaven did later thus becrown. 
What heart of us, but Cuthbert, guessed her 
worth? 



156 TKe Nvin of Rent act i 

I 've heard thee rate her, Mistress Cobb, full oft 
And sore, in saint less days at Aldington 
When she o'ermuch did dally at her task, 
Or flirt too many of those graces out 
That Heaven — and Cuthbert — so approved in 
her. 
Mistress Cobb : No sign o* saintship was 
upon her then. 
When she was serving wench to me and mine. 
That swear I by all saints. 

Peasant: Good Lord! Beware! 

Ye speak o'er freely of who is a saint. 

Mistress Cobb: I mean her no disgrace. 
I bate my breath 
And sign the cross when I bespeak her now. 
Have I not journeyed sin' cockcrow, to pay 
Her dole for prayer I one time paid for wage? 
She bears me naught of malice. But to-day 
I lost her a good groat to pray for me 
And mine. 

Mistress Vane : I ween she 'd pray thee out 
o' Heaven, 
For half o' that she takes to pray thee in. 

Peasant: Sir Thomas More a double ducat 
gave 
To say an Ave for him. 

Mistress Vane: That must be 

Dire needed grace which cost so mickle gold. 
Peasant: Wot ye that book writ of her 
oracles? 



SCI THe Nun of Hent 157 

Archbishop Warham brought it to King Hal. 

Mistress Vane: The king made merry o 't. 

Mistress Cobb {warmly): Yea! Wot ye 
why? 
Her holy revelations ill do fit 
His will. Had she decreed that Catherine 
Was well divorced and Anne was lawful queen, 
The king with hot haste had put faith in her. 
But sin' she doth denounce this lustful bond 
The "vvhile Queen Catherine lives, therefore, 

forsooth, 
Hating the truth for loving of Queen Anne, 
The king makes truth a lie to keep Anne queen, 
And disavows God's saint. 

Mistress Vane {impatiently) : This Nun of 
Kent 
Doth lead the English people by the nose — 
Priests, prelates, nobles — all, save but the king. 

Mistress Cobb {sneeringly) : The king and 

thee, shrewd Mistress Vane. I ween 

She led once e'en thy Cuthbert in such wise. 

Old Peasant: Poor little lass! She was a 
winsome child ; 
Had a gay laugh, and a light foot to dance, 
And a sweet voice to sing. 

Mistress Vane: A wilful lass. 

With never head to learn nor hand to work. 
And her the pnests have made a saint of — Beth! 

Peasants: Our Lady's grace! A miracle! 

Mistress Vane {shortly) : Was need. 



15^ THe N\jn of Rent act i 

Old Peasant : There 's never night but angels 
visit her 
Within her celL 

Second Peasant: And once the archfiend 
came 
To wrestle against Heaven for right in her. 
Hast seen the mark he burnt upon her arm? 
Mistress Vane {contemptuously) : A birth- 
mark, hidden in unsaintly days 
With a smart riband ! 

Peasant (angrily) : Nay, it was himself 

Laid his hot hand upon her, and her flesh 
Scorched in quick horror of so near approach. 
Ask Father Bocking ! 

Mistress Vane (going) : Ask the archfiend's 
self! (Exit.) 

Mistress Cobb: How she doth hug her 
sinful disbelief! 
She hath an untamed spirit and a strange. 

Peasant: So her son Cuthbert. Holds his 
head as high 
As my Lord Bishop. Wears his vest as proud 
As 't were an ermine mantle. Hath no word 
For peasant folk. 

Young Girl: Nor smile for any maid. 

He is an austere man, grave, hard, and cold. 

Mistress Cobb : Cold now, in that he loved 

so hotly once 

He burnt his heart to ashes — so methinks — 

Though fires that kindle slowest, smoulder long. 



sc. 11 TKe N\in of Rent 1 59 

Young Girl: 'T were sin to love a nun with 
human love, 
And she a saint. Sure now he hath forgot. 
Mistress Cobb: Mayhap. Try thy warm 
smiles there an thou wilt. 
They '11 melt the granite sooner. — Well, good 

folk, 
We have long gossiped. I must hence, and 
home. 

{Turns away.) 
Peasants: And I. And I. The day is 

wearing late. 

{Exeunt.) 

Scene ii 

{The Priory Hall. Fathers Bering, Rysby, 

Rich, and Goold in the foreground, drinking 

and dice-throwing. Father Bocking in the 

background, walking slowly up and down.) 

Bering : Prithee, pass on the flagon. Father 

Goold. 

{To Rich.) 

Bestir thee. Friend. A song to cheer the hour. 
Rich {sullenly) : Rouse Father Rysby. {To 

Goold.) S'death ! the throw was mine. 
Goold: By sainted Thomas, never! 
Bering: Here. The bowl. 

{To Rysby.) 
Now, Father, drench those thirsty lips of thine, 
And give us a rare tune, a sumptuous strain, 



l6o THe N\in of Rent act i 

To drive the echoes of our Matins' plaint 
From out these dull old walls. 

{He snatches hack the flagon.) 
Drat thee! Begin. 

Rysby {chanting dolefully): A-ve-Ma 

Bering : Faith, we *re deaf with Aves ! Blast 
Thy tongue ! 

Booking {coming forward): Truce to your 
guzzlings! Drop those dice! 
'T is nigh upon her hour. 

GooLD {continuing to throw) : How harms it 
her? 

Dering {drinking) : A taste hereof may lend 
her weakness strength. 
Best call her shortly ere the flagon fail. 

Booking {coming nearer): I said give o'er. 

Hark ye; give o'er ye must. 
Bering {putting down flagon sulkily) : I v/ot 

not wherefore. 
Rich {looking up from dice) : Who made thee 

our lord? 
Booking {deliberately): Myself, out of mine 
own pre-eminence. 
{He stands looking at them signiflcantly.) 
Dering: And we obey thee out of ab- 
jectness 
Of this our serfhood to thy greatness? Good. 
Rich {mockingly): blest harmoniousness ! 
Behold us one 
In lowly-mindedness ! 



sc. II "THe N\in of K.©nt i6i 

Rysby {stretching himself at full length): 

In lethargy, 
Say rather. Easier were it to obey 
Him who asserts himself, than to contend 
Against the assertion. Father Booking, speak. 
I listen acquiescent. 

{To GooLD, motioning toward a cushion.) 
Pass it here. 
GoOLD {putting it under his own head) : 
Thou'rt fat enow to want none. Leave 
it me. 
Rysby {indolently): Truth. Thou art lean 
with listing ower long 
To rosy-lipped confessions of sweet sins. 
Thou mayest keep it, Father. Be it soft 
As penance dealt to fair-cheeked penitents 
By thine indulgence. 

Bocking: Fools! What prate ye of! 

Doth naught more urgently compel your 

thoughts 
Than the dull routine of the cloistral day — 
The bootless, sapless, dead monotony 
Ye call existence? 

Rysby: Why uncharm our peace? 

*T is a soft-feathered nest. 

Bering {drawing up the flagon): Where 

wine fails not. 
Goold: Nor low- voiced penitents to shrive. 
Rich {folding his hands across his stomach)' 
And where 



1 62 THe Nvin of Rent act i 

The Matin bells ring not too loud a peal 

O' frosty mornings, nor brown-roasted ducks 

Have too pale sauce at vespers. 

Bocking: Prattle o' babes ! 

Is there no nursing soul among ye all 
Sucketh some saving discontent? 

Bering: Yea, then. 

I 'd brave damnation for a spicier draught — 
A redder, rarer, richer, madder wine! 

Booking {coming close to him): Do as I bid 
thee. Thou shalt quaff a wine 
Had never peer in Canterbury's best. 

Bering: Hey? Thou hast pass-keys to 
the Bishop's vault? 

Booking (meaningly): I have a key where- 
with I will unlock 
A door shall let thee to thy bishoprick. 

Bering (rousing): Faith, that were nobly 
done. 'T would please me well 
To don the mitre. What 's this magic key 
Shall so My-Lord me? 

Bocking: Follow thou my lead. 

Myself will robe thee bishop. 

All (breaking into laughter): Thou! 

Bering (shrugging his shoulders) : He mouths 
His speech as were he my Lord Cardinal ! 

Booking (lifting his right hand solemnly)'. 
Lord Cardinal I shall be. 

(The monks look at him startled.) 

Bering (impatiently) : It appears 



sc. II THe N\jin of Rent 163 

Thou 'rt not afraid to step high — with thy 
words. 
Bocking: Feet follow where words climb. 
Rysby {raising himself on his elbow): Thy 
ladder show. 
Be it nor frail, nor steep, nor slack of base. 
What is 't shall stay us mounting after thee? 
Bocking (still more solemnly): Do but my 
bidding, and ere many moons, 
Honours ye dream not of shall crown your faith. 
(He comes into the midst of the group, 
slowly scrutinising each in turn.) 
Are ye all one with me? 

GooLD, Rich, and Rysby {impressed) : Ay. 
Bering {after a pause) : Ay. 

Bocking: To death? 

Bering: An it be death first robes me 

bishop, nay — 
I thank thee, Friend, better becomes me cowl. 
Booking {raising his clenched hands high 
with sudden passion): Oh, miserly life 
that will not give itself 
In payment for its wishes! Hark. My soul 
Starves for the cardinalate, and though I reach 
To snatch it through the molten doors of hell, 
Yet will I not give o'er. What ! Live on here 
This hemmed-in, miserable, mapped-down life, 
Crushed to a level, indistinguishable 
In one grey mass of insignificance? 
Thrice better death than life's oblivion! 



164 TKe N\jin of Hent act i 

Thrice better death — ^thrice welcome, if so be 
Higher than I stood living, it stand me dead! 
Bering: Oh, meek son of our holy Mother- 
church ! 
Aptly such speech adometh thy sworn lips. 
Bleached with slow litanies and lowly creeds ! 
Rysby {sinking hack and clasping his hands 
under his head): Choose thy style, 
Father, Cardinal or Pope, 
As pleaseth thee. Who swooneth at no 

height, 
Certes comes farthest. 

Rich {going to Bocking and laying a hand on 
his arm) : Here. I join with thee. 
Ambition is a generous lord to serve. 

Rysby: Rather a monster tyrant, niggardly 
Of wage, of service m,ost exorbitant. 
Whose bait 's a poisoned arrow in the flesh. 
Whose guerdon is a keener lash o' the whip. 
All they who follow in his glittering ranks 
Forfeit content as their enlistment fee. 
Natheless, if drum allure, enrol thee, pray. 
Bering: Two fools for one. 

(Booking looks round angrily.) 
Rysby {interceding good-humour edly): Whist. 
Whist. Let the word pass. 
Its savour falleth harmless from thee. 

GooLD {rising) : Troth, 

By thine own marking we be all fools here, 
With cowls for caps. 



sc. n The N\in of Hent 165 

{He looks down at his monk's dress.) 
I sicken of this jest. 
{He crosses over to Bocking.) 
Thou 'rt in the right of it. Show the way out! 
Rysby: I drift where strongest currents 
draw. To float 
Is seemher than to battle with the tide. 

{He draws his hands from under his head 
to count off on his fingers.) 
Three of thy mind. 

{He rises slowly to his feet.) 

The vortex sweeps me in. 

How is 't, pray, Father Bering? Hold'st alone? 

Bering (/o Bocking): What plottest thou? 

If but a tournament 

Of tongues — ^words set a-tilt to amuse the 

world — 
I'm naught for 't. But, so be it is of deeds — 
Beeds to be done, schemes to be battled out, 
Great purposes to grapple with, to twist 
Into strong knots or hammer into shape 
By sheer out-putting strength — I leap to arms! 
Bocking: Thy hand, Friend! 
Bering: First show thine. 

Bocking: So did I. This 

The stake I play for. Fame. High office. 

Bering: So. 

And thy trump ace? 

Bocking: Elizabeth of Kent. 

Bering: The Nun? 



1 66 THe N-un of Hent act i 

Rich and Goold: Our new-fledged saint? 

Rysby {unwillingly): Methinks e'en now 
Hath she o'er served us. 

Bocking: I have measured her 

And know her powers. 

Bering: Number them us. 

Goold: Sweet eyes, 

A dimpled chin, a mouth that pouts to kiss, 
And cheeks a-blush for the mouth's wayward- 
ness — 
These be great powers ! 

Rysby : But win not bishopricks. 

Bering: What hath she saving comeliness? 
— frail prop 
To rest a ladder on ! 

Rich : The maid lacks brains. 

An ignorant lass. A very babe for thought. 

Bocking: The better for our needs. Blind 
faith serves best. 

Rich : Bocile she is in truth. 

Bering {contemptuously) : Obedient 

As echoes are. 

Bocking: She holds her teachings fast: 
Her childish faith yet faster. By the rood, 
There 's never tool within the universe 
So fitted to our hand! 

Rich : She plays the saint 

As one inspired of Heaven. 

Rysby {apologetically) : She doth deceive 

Herself before all others. 



sc. II THe N\Jin of Rent 167 

Bocking: ' T is on that 

My scheme is builded. When five years agone 
I first beheld her in that trance, and heard 
Her, senseless, babbling forth strange pulpit 

lore 
Held, parrot-fashion, by her ignorant ear. 
Then laid I my mind's finger on her — then — 
Guessing an aptitude for mimicking 
At will of mine, as by command of God 
And for high use, those swoons miraculous 
Whereof a timely physic bettered her — 
I challenged fate! To this end have I worked; 
Thereto have moulded her; thus far alone. 
Now must ye work with me. The hour is ripe. 

Bering: Good. Show us of thy scheme. 

Bocking: By yonder maid, 

The Nun of Kent, to shake a dynasty. 

Rysby: Great Heavens! 

Bering: Speak on! 

Bocking: By yonder mindless maid, 

The Nun of Kent, to fire all England's blood 
To white-heat acts, dethrone a lawless king. 
Crown Mary lawful queen, restore the Church, 
And bring our country on repentant knees 
To the lost jurisdiction of the Pope. 

Rysby : A breathless scheme ! 

Rich : Impossible ! 

Bering: Oh, bold! 

Oh, daring, mad and perfect! {To Booking.) 
Here! My hand! 



l68 THe N\in of R.ent act i 

GooLD (anxiously): A mad plan, truly. 

Mad. And dangerous. 
Bering {turning on him) : And thou 'rt 
afeard, I 11 cut thy tongue out, knave, 
And let thee loose. 

Rysby (conciliatorily) : Peace. Peace. 

Give breathing space 
To view this matter in. — Dethrone King Hal, 
Sitting so high up with his ill-got queen 
And making merry with the heretics 
Against the Church? Nay, I 've no love for 

him. 
But to conspire against him, take his throne. 
Build up another power — 't is a big thought, 
That on my stomach sits uneasily. 
Booking : Strong meats take slow digesting. 
Bide thy time. 
Thou 'It grow to it. Once Mary on the throne, 
The heretics are banished, Pole recalled. 
The Catholic Church once more supreme, and 

we 

GooLD (uneasily) : Ay, we? — sobeit we may 
not fall amuck 

O' the headsman ? 

Bering (exultingly) : Ha! I scent arch- 

bishopricks ! 
Bocking: We who have built shall have the 
builders' meed 
From her for whom we builded — Catholic Mary. 

(A pause.) 



sc. Ill XHe Nun of Rent 169 

Enough. Keep your own counsel, and keep 
mine. 

{He retires into the background and resumes 
his slow walk.) 
Rysby : What complot this, by all the powers 
of Heaven, 
To drop i' the midst of us! Dethrone the king! 
Crown Mary! 

GoOLD : And the Nun for instrument ! 

Rich: Now what a mind the man hath! 
What a brain, 
To snatch at circumstance and fashion fact 
To fit his rude intent ! 

Bering: A master mind! 

Goold: And we its vassals? 
Bering: No shame, though so be. 

High serving honours him who serves, and mind, 
Like water, finds its own just level. Ay ! 
I hail him Master ! 

Rysby: Whist! Yon comes the Nun. 

Scene hi 

{The same. Enter Elizabeth. Bocking ad- 
vances to meet her.) 

Bocking: Daughter, o'er long I wait. 

Elizabeth {penitently): Father, forgive! 
I was a-weary. 

Bocking: Faints thy soul so soon? 

Gird thee with resolution and toil on. 
The children of the world may tire; not thou. 



170 TKe N\in of Rent act i 

Elizabeth: Must I do penance therefor? 
Woe is me ! 
This honourable saintship is a cross 
To soul not born to it. 

Bocking: Daughter, beware! 

Thy feet have far to travel on high roads; 
And they to whom vouchsafed so holy goal, 
May own no self to draw their purpose back 
With importune complainings. 

Elizabeth (humbly) : Father, nay. 

Bocking: They live but in so far as they 
achieve. 
Themselves are nothing ; their identity 
Blotted from sight in their accomplishment. 

Elizabeth: Shall I account myself so little 
use? 

Bocking: Count thyself little? Heavens! 
Pray, what art thou? — 
An atom in a universe of mites. 
The merest naught, in an immensity 
Of moving cyphers. Nowhere canst thou find 
A narrower bound of insignificance 
Than thine own narrow soul. 

Elizabeth (piqued) : And yet, methinks, 
So great a task allotted me, concedes 
Somewhat of worth in e'en so small a thing. 

Booking: Oh, vanity of creature! Is the 
vase 
By virtue of its contents brass or gold? 
Thou, thou art nothing. But thy task is — all! 



SC. Ill 



The N\in of Rent 171 



Elizabeth: And if I fail? Will God be 

very wroth? 
Bocking: None fails whom God appoints 
to service. Strength 
Matches the need ; hands shape themselves to fit 
The given tool ; backs bend to bear the load. 
Bering {coming to her side): Do but his 

bidding — that, thy talisman! 
Elizabeth: Yea, Father, yea! For ever, 

and in all. 
Bocking: The test is nigh. There is ac- 
corded thee 
A marvellous mission. Daughter, thou art called 
To be thy country's saviour. 

Elizabeth (recoiling): Saviour? — I? 

Nay, Father, nay! It is enough of grace 
But to be Saint EHzabeth of Kent, 
And fast long hours, and lead a separate life, 
And wear a bit of sackcloth next my heart. 

{She draws nearer, and pushing back 

the nun's coif, lifts the hair from her 

forehead.) 

Father, my flesh is very tender. See! 

I doubt me could it brook a crown of thorns. 

And must I, too, be crucified? {In sudden 

terror.) Nay ! nay ! 
Saint though I be, yet mortal am I still — 
Pain-fearing and joy-loving. Let me from 't ! 
I could not brave the shame — ^the agony — 
Not e'en to be a Saviour ! 



172 The Nvin of Rent 



ACT I 



Rysby: Hush, poor lamb! 

Thine ignorance is blasphemy. A cross 
For thee! a crown of thorns! — dear Lord, 
forgive ! 

Rich (sneeringly) : Thy conscience doth wax 
newly tender, sure! 

BocKiNG {to Elizabeth) : Poor foolish heart, 
that sets its own weak throbs — 
Its small fleet pangs — against a future fame! 
But dread nor cross nor crown, Elizabeth, 
Sainthood too high, nor too great martyrdom; 
Thou art not formed thereto. 

Elizabeth (eagerly) : I crave it not. 

To be a saint, and so feel sure of Heaven, 
Yet not so much a saint but that I may 
Retain somewhat of earth, sufficeth me. 

Rysby : To be content with what one hath, is 
Heaven. 

BocKiNG (impatiently): This earth hath no 
contentment! That we call 
By so poor name is but surrendering 
Our slavish necks to whatever yoke there be — 
A dull acceptance of the inevitable, 
A lifeless bearing of some dragging cross 
Our cowardice dares not free us from. Nay! 

Nay! 
Ambition, aspiration, hope, are naught 
But discontent endowed with angel wings. 
'T is better starve for the divine, than feast 
Upon unworthy meats ! — Elizabeth, 



sc. m THe Nun of Rent 173 

What wert thou when I found thee? Simple; 

poor; 
Untaught ; despised of all. 

Elizabeth (softly) : Nay, not of all. 

There was one loved me. 

Bocking: Now, contrast thy state. 

Commissioned prophetess of Heaven's decree — 
The faith, the pride of multitudes. And lo, 
Thine award is but half granted. Thou shalt on 
To fame immortal as high Heaven. 

Elizabbtb. (sorrowfully) : Ah me! 

Hath God some revelation newly sent? 

Bocking: To thee; not yet to all. 

Elizabeth (sighing) : Ay, Father. 

Booking (solemnly): Kneel. 

(Elizabeth kneels.) 
Hast thou confest to-day? 

Elizabeth: My every sin. 

Booking: Hast thou had absolution? 

Elizabeth: Father, yea. 

Booking (peremptorily to the monks) : Kneel ! 

GooLD (muttering): Is 't for long? 

Rysby (pushing down Rich) : Let me assist 
thee, Friend, 
To the unaccustomed rite. 

Booking: My Daughter, hark. 

There have this day in deep ecstatic dreams, 
Been shown me mighty things. All I have seen, 
All I have heard, may I no man declare. 
This only was I bid reveal to thee. 



174 TKe N\in of K.ent act i 

Elizabeth (crossing herself) : I listen. 

BocKiNG (slowly and forcibly) : Henry, who 
now England rules, 
Rules not himself. Henry, whom God made 

king, 
Obeys not God. Henry, whom Heaven did 

crown, 
Defieth Heaven. And lo ! his hour is come. 
This England, that he rules, shall out-rule him. 
God, who did crown him, shall strike off that 

crown, 
And Heaven, that was his aid, abandon him. 

Elizabeth: Oh, poor King Henry! poor 
King Hal! 

Bocking: Put by 

Thy puny pity ! Know but scorn for him 
Who calling himself monarch, is yet slave 
Chained to his smallest, weakest, vilest lust! 
Who, sitting on a throne, conceives he shows 
Vice regal, so he lift it to his side! 
Who thinks he makes crime lawful by high sins 
In consecrated places! Spare thy grief, 
And lend thee to the speedy furtherance 
Of Heaven's great purposes. Dethrone the king. 
And crown his daughter queen! 

Dering : Oh, royal scheme ! 

Elizabeth (aghast) : Nay, what can I in so 
grave matter? 

Bocking: All. 

GooLD (aside, rising) : My knees wax lame. 



SC. Ill 



The Nvin of Rent I75 



Rysby: Methinks it were no lack 

Of reverence to edge a cushion in. 

{He pulls up a pillow and gradually 
slips into recumbent position.) 
Bering {absorbed in Bocking's words)-. 
Whence got yon man his power! 

Rich {scowling): From Heaven — or hell — 
It matters not. 

Bering: Wondrous concept! 

Bocking: Arise, 

Elizabeth of Kent! Stand forth! {To the monks,) 

Behold! 
Bo ye here one and all engage yourselves 
True followers of this our saint? 

Bering, Rich, and Goold {heartily) : We do ! 
Bocking {to Rysby) : Thou, Father, answer. 
Rysby {reluctantly) : The crowd sweeps me on. 
Perforce I follow. 

Bocking {to Elizabeth) : Here be five of us 
Sworn to command in this most righteous cause. 
Without waits all of England that we come 
To mete out justice in the name of Heaven, 
Whilst thou, here, there, and yonder, as I bid 
Thee speak, shalt lend in secrecy thy voice 
To syllable God's will. 

Elizabeth: In secrecy? 

Bocking: So great a truth thrown open on 
the world, 
Would blind with its immensity of light. 
Through thee it shall fall softly on veiled eyes. 



176 THe N\in of Rent acti 

Elizabeth: And thou wilt train my tongue 
to speech? 

Bocking: The same 

As Heaven hath deigned teach me. 

Elizabeth : And is it bid 

I still avow the revelation mine? 

Bocking: Thine is the revelation, I its 
voice, — 
Thus Heaven doth shield its frailer souls, — 

lest thou, 
Sudden admitted to such mysteries, 
Should'st perish, blasted with their ecstasy. 
But thine the revelation — thine, not mine. 

Rysby : Truth. Thine, not his. — Blest Mary 
and dear Christ, 
*T is a droll world we live in ! 

Elizabeth : ' A strange world, 

And I, methinks, the strangest figure in 't. 
I no more know myself. I am unlike 
All that was me. First was I little Beth, 
With a rare lover, and no thought or care 
More than the singing bird that seeks the sun. 
Then came that sickness on me, and so thou 
Didst call me in God's name to be a saint. 
And I did put my youth and lover by. 
Then was I St. EHzabeth of Kent, 
And did long penances and made great prayers, 
And taught the folk all thou hadst taught to me 
Of law, and of God's anger with the king; 
And so grew famous, and less happy far. 



sc. Ill THe N\in of Hent 177 

And now what am I? What must grow to be? 
More than I am, yet oh ! less than I was ; — 
My country's Saviour — and unhappier. 
Can one be made great with a little soul? 
This greatness lies upon me like a pall, 
Covering my dead youth with a sombre state 
That bids me weep. 

Bocking: There speaks the village lass — 
No more the saint. 

Elizabeth : Father, forgive the maid, 

Who in her sainthood misses her lost self. 
Death, consecrator of all things, makes even 
Our dead selves not unworthy of our tears. 
It is a passing tribute. I have done. 

Bocking: Hail, St. Elizabeth of Kent, our 
chief, 
Our guide to truth, to victory, to power! 

All: Hail, hail, thrice hail to St. Elizabeth! 

Elizabeth {falling on her knees): God help 
me ! I am wondrous frail and weak. 

Booking (inciting the others): Hail! Hail! 

All: Hail, St. Elizabeth! 

Elizabeth (weeping): Ah me! 

(The curtain falls.) 



ACT II 

(Scene i — The square outside the Priory. The 
chapel on one side. The convent of St. 
Sepulchre on the other behind high walls. A 
brilliant moon floods the scene. Cuthbert 
seated on a bench in the foreground. Mis- 
tress Vane standing near. The chapel bells 
chime, followed by twelve slow strokes.) 
Cuthbert: Midnight. How lag the hours! 
Mistress Vane : Son, Son, come home ! 
Cuthbert: The moon makes night forget 
her errand. Hark! 
Was that a gate jarred yonder? 

Mistress Vane: Cuthbert! 

Cuthbert: Peace. 

Hark ! {Listens anxiously.) 

Mistress Vane : Nay, *t was nothing, no- 
thing. 
Cuthbert: *T was a hope 

Stirred low within me. 

Mistress Vane: Wherefore watch so long? 
What good can it betide thee though she come? 
Cuthbert: What good? Ay, none. 'T is 
slaking my mad thirst 
178 



sc. I THe N\in of Rent 179 

With salted water. Yet the parching tongue 
Still drinks. 

Mistress Vane: Out on thee! Shall love 
bind thee aye 
In serfdom to such folly? Be again 
A man. Shake off this despicable thrall 
It shames thee to remember. 

Cuthbert: Folly? Shame? 

A despicable weakness? These be names 
For woman's love — not man's. 

Mistress Vane : Or man's or maid's 

As liketh thee, but leave off loving! 

Cuthbert : Ay. 

When I shall leave off living. 

Mistress Vane : Fool ! Pluck love 

From out thy bosom ! Rouse thee! Be at heart 
The cold proud man thou putt est on by day. 

Cuthbert: I weary waiting. Send her forth 
to me. 

Mistress Vane: Others there be a plenty 
at thy call. 
Get thee another love. 

Cuthbert: Go send her forth. 

Mistress Vane : Now that I will not ! 

Cuthbert: Pass through yonder gate, 

Unbarred — by miracle ! — ^that she be free 
At will o' the chapel road, when prayer con- 
strains. 
The way is open to her cell. Knock soft. 
And bid her come to me. 



i8o THe Nvin of Hent actii 

Mistress Vane: I go not hence. 

Cuthbert: Bid her make speed. I wait 

her coming long. 
Mistress Vane: She sleeps by this. 
Cuthbert: She doth not sleep. She wakes. 
Am I not waking? 

Mistress Vane {tries the convent gate, finds it 
unlocked, hesitates, and turns hack to 
Cuthbert): Prithee, list; give o'er 
A love that doth unman thee. Yon frail lass 
Was aye unworthy thee. 

Cuthbert {turning upon her fiercely): Be 

still! — And go. 
Mistress Vane: Was ever love like this! 
{Exit reluctantly through convent gate.) 

Scene ii 
(Cuthbert alone.) 

Cuthbert: Was ever love 

Unlike my love? Then never was that love. 
A love that metes itself out thus and so 
According to the measure that it gets — 
A love that yields itself to reason's check 
And may unmake or make itself at will — 
A love that prates of worthiness in one 
It loves — counts out the virtues — sums them up 
As thus and whys for loving ere it loves — 
That is no love at all, nor needs a name. 
But love as I know love, a madness is 



sc. Ill THe Nun of Hent i8l 

Saner than reason; oh, a weakness is 
Stronger than strength, a folly above wit. 
Not for the love she bore me loved I her, 
Nor for my joy in her, nor for the need 
I had. I loved her because Love, one noon, 
Descending out of space, chanced where we were, 
"Wrapped us in its huge shadow, bHnded us, 
Took her and me in its titanic grasp. 
And shook our souls together. 

{He relapses into silence, then springs 
up and stands listening intently.) 

Scene hi 

CuTHBERT {standing. Enter The Nun. Mis- 
tress Vane comes out from the convent with 
her, and disappears behind the chapel.) 
Elizabeth {softly, from the distance) : Cuth- 

bert! 
CuTHBERT {holding out his arms, without 

moving from the spot) : Thou ! 
Elizabeth {coming nearer) : Cuthbert ! 
CuTHBERT {springing suddenly toward her): 

Beth— Beth— my little Beth! 
Elizabeth {motioning him hack) : Nay, soft. 
Come not anear. Not little Beth I am, 
But St. Elizabeth — ^the Nun — the Saint — 
And thine no more. Thou may'st not come so 

nigh. 
I have outgrown thy love. 

Cuthbert: Nay, little Beth, 



1 82 TKe Nun of Rent 



ACT II 



Thou hast outgrown thine own love. Mine 

thou hast 
Not yet reached up to — nay, nor ever canst. 

Elizabeth: Thy loving must be very great 
indeed, 
To stand so high above me — I a saint, 
And pinnacled anear to Heaven ! 

CuTHBERT : Thou ! 

Thou art no saint, Beth. Thou art only Beth, 
Grown thus much older, tricked out as a nun, 
And taught a longer, sadder way to pray ; — 
Only my little lass, priest-caught, and dragged 
From out her world to one she fits not. 

Elizab eth : Truth . 

I was not fitted to it, heart nor soul. 
I would have given all my sainthood up. 
But to be left with thee and be thy wife, 
And live my little humble glad life out 
In unambitious quiet by thy side, 
If but it could have been ! 

Cuthbert: Prove these thy words! 

Give up the falsehood now ! Come forth with me, 
And be my very wife! Oh, better far 
Be true man's wife than false priests' fraud! 

Come Beth, 
Thou heart and soul of me! Thou dearer self! 
{He springs toward her. She retreats.) 

Elizabeth: Stand back! Away from me! 
No profane hand 
May dare approach me! 



sc. Ill THe N\in of Rent 183 

CuTHBERT {drawing back) : Hath the hand of 

love 
Aught in 't of desecration? Mistaught child, 
What can thy priests reveal to thee more pure, 
More holy than love is? — Fear not. Fear not. 
Thou little mimic saint — thou sweetest lie 
That ever stole Truth's garb — thou fairest fraud 
That ever fooled men's sense! I '11 touch thee 

not. 
What boots it? We are cleft too far apart 
For any bridging of the difference. 
Thou 'rt fallen from me, Beth, not grown from 

me, 
Else had I borne it. 

Elizabeth: Thou art bitter! Thou! 

Thou, once so tender with me, thou alone 
Holding me high when others held me low, 
Now thou alone of all disclaimest me. 
Cuthbert, take back thy words. They stab me 

here. 

(She puts her hands to her breast.) 
Rather I would the whole world thought me 

false, 
And thou hadst faith in me. Seest thou not 
Thy doubt professeth so a doubt of God? 

Cuthbert: Thou dost deceive thyself, Beth, 

and the world. 
Me thou canst not deceive. I love too true. 
Elizabeth: I do prefer thine old ways, 

the old names 



i84 TKe N\jn of Rent act ii 

That rang so softly — the old blind dear love 
That owned no fault in me when I had most. 
Oh, I have not forgotten ! I recall 
Through all the dignity of my high state 
Those days when I was nothing save to thee, 
And owned naught, save thy love. And oft — 

oh, oft!— 
My soul is sick with longing — sick to pain — 
With yearning for those days, and thee. 

Chide not. 
I know such speech is sin — know I must make 
To-morrow penance therefor. But to-night — 
To-night I cannot put this sweetness by. 
I knew thou cam'st to-night. I felt thee near, 
As April feels the bourgeoning in her blood 
Before the bloom unsheathes. And in my heart 
The old love burst its bonds and leaped to thine, 
As breaks the torrent through its frozen shroud 
At call of summer sun. Oh, dear my love. 
Let me remember but this one night more, 
And be thy Beth again! See, 'neath my cloak 
{she divides its long folds) 
I have put on the gown I used to wear, 
And on mine arm the riband — on my neck 
The chain that thou didst give me. 

(She throws off the Nun's cloak and hoody 
and stands dressed in a peasant's 
costume.) 

Cuthbert, see. 
Am I not fair to-night as then I was? 



sc. Ill TKe Nvin of Rent 185 

CuTHBERT (covering his eyes) : Beth — Beth — 
Elizabeth (slipping the chain through her 

fingers as if it were a rosary) : I have such 

pretty trinkets now, — 
Such jewels, Cuthbert! Thou should'st only 

see. 
Good Father Bocking holds them for the poor, 
For saints may love no vanities, he saith. 
The people bring them to me for my prayers; 
And gold, too; but the baubles please me best. 
'T is pity nuns forswear them. They show 

bright 
Across the black, and do become me well. 
Sometimes at dusk when I have done my beads, 
I deck me out in them, breast, arms, and hair, 
And stand back — ^thus — and lift my head up high. 
And fancy I 'm a queen, — and long for thee! 
Tell me — thou art so still — am I less fair? 
Cuthbert: Would Heaven thou wert, or 

that I thought thee so. 
Elizabeth: Then am I grown less dear? 

What merit lacks? 
Hast thou no little pretty word to say 
For but this night, dear Cuthbert — but this 

night? 
Cuthbert (hotly) : Why only for to-night ? 

Is love a gem 
To put on or fling off as folly bids? 
Not only for to-night, but for alway 
List to me, Beth ! 



1 86 The Nvin of lient 



ACT H 



Elizabeth {wistfully, drawing nearer) : I am 
not grown less fair, 
Less dear to thee? 

CuTHBERT (passionately): By Heaven, thou 
art more vain, 
And foolisher, less worthy and more weak, 
Yet — God ! — dearer — dearer — dearer ! 

Elizabeth (wounded, and drawing back) : Nay ! 
Not vainer! Nay, more humble am I grown, 
Being more worthy than I was of old. 
How else were I made saint? Thou dost not 

dream 
The life I live — all penance, study, prayer. 
Cuthbert: Leave off such lessoning! The 
priests blind thee 
With the allurements of their serpent wiles. 
Have done with this long mummery. Come back 
To thine old childlike truth and loyalty. 

Elizabeth: Time was there when it vext 
me sore to know 
I might not leave this new life for the old — 
Give up all else and keep but thee. But now — 

Cuthbert, God hath called me to great things — 
Greater than love of thine could e'er devise. 

1 may not give the great up for the less. 

One may not choose one's life out — wife or saint. 
One is what God ordains. See. I do wrong 
In meeting thee to-night. Ay, I do wrong 
In loving thee. The saintHest of all hearts 
Are those that love not, Father Bocking saith. 



sc. Ill THe N\jn of Rent 187 

Yet I, though singly honoured thus of Heaven, 

Find it so hard to unlearn love — find love 

So lovely still. — Hush, Cuthbert ! This to-night 

Is my farewell. I will not see thee more, 

Nor love thee — from to-morrow. These black 

folds {she resumes her nun's cloak) 
Shall be the graveclothes of my love. Thy Beth, 
Thy little Beth is dead. Here. Take. 

(She unfastens the chain and holds it out 
to him.) 

Take back 
Thy chain ; it binds too closely to thee yet ; 
I may not keep it. I have work to do, 
And thought of thee unnerves me for the task. 
And must not creep between. 

{The chain falls from her outstretched 
hands to the ground. He grinds it 
under his heel where it lies.) 
Cuthbert: Would God I stood 

For ever betwixt thee and all mischance! 

Elizabeth : Thy hurt hath warped thy brain. 
Didst thou know more. 
Thy love itself would not withhold me now. 
A revelation hath been granted me 
Through Father Bocking. Mock not, Cuth- 
bert ! Hear 
How God hath chosen this same witless lass 
Whom thou so scornest athwart all thy love — 
Do the words prick thee? — to work out His 
will. 



1 88 TKe Nvin of Rent act ii 

Her, and those selfsame priests thou dared'st 

defame. 
All hath been ordered. But a little space 
And Henry who is king, is king no more, 
And Mary is our queen ! 

Cuthbert: Thy morrow's screed 

Gotten by rote. Well conned. Yet here is none 
To gape at thee. Thy scholars sleep. 

Elizabeth {gently) : Forbear 

Thy mockery. The truth still wears truth's face, 
Unaltered by thy sneer. 

Cuthbert: Or by thy boast. 

Words shall not make King Henry less a king, 
Or Mary sooner queen. 

Elizabeth {significantly): Wait, scoffer, wait! 
Look close! Words may go first, but armoured 

deeds 
Shall follow with loud footsteps ! 

Cuthbert {sharply): Deeds? What deeds? 

Elizabeth {impressively): Deeds that shall 
make King Henry no more king, 
And crown his daughter queen. 

Cuthbert: Great God, what plot 

Is this! 

Elizabeth {pleased to have roused him) : 
The plot that foreordains the fact. 

Cuthbert: Fact? — Treason! Treason! 

Elizabeth {shocked): Nay, dear Cuthbert, 
nay! 
Treason is wrought of men. This is an act 



sc. Ill TKe N\jn of Kent 189 

Decreed of Heaven. The king hath angered God, 
For Henry hath done ill, and God commands 
We shall dethrone him. We do but effect 
God's will. 

Cuthbert: gracious Heaven, what black 
abyss 
Of crime is this ! what direst wickedness ! 

Elizabeth {very gravely) : Now Heaven for- 
give thee! Doth God counsel crime? 
Cuthbert: God? This is Devil's counsel! 
Child ! These priests 
Decoy thee into lurid hell! Beth — Beth — 
When have I ever lied to thee? I swear 
By that white love that binds our souls in one, 
This thing they plot is treason black and vile ! 
Elizabeth {moving off): How dar'st thou 
so to judge God's holy law? 
'T is blasphemy ! 
Cuthbert {following her) : Nay, listen, listen, 
Beth! 
I yet must save thee ! 

Elizabeth {retreating): What would'st save 
me from? 
From serving God and serving this my land 
As never maid but one hath served before? 
Now were I weak indeed, now truly frail 
For wrath of thine to stay so high resolve. 

{She passes quickly through the convent 
gate and bars it. He presses after her, 
flinging his weight vainly against it.) 



190 TKe N\an of Rent act ii 

Cuthbert: Beth! Beth! 

{She moves back to the convent door, and 
throwing it open turns and faces him 
from the threshold, the darkness behind 
her, and the moon full upon her face.) 
Elizabeth: Thou dost mistake me. Beth 
is dead. 
I am EHzabeth, the Nun of Kent, 
Saviour of England, and God's servitor. 

{She disappears through the convent door, 
and closes it behind her.) 

Scene iv 

Cuthbert {alone. He slowly withdraws from the 
gate, and stands still in the centre of the stage.) 
Cuthbert: Is there a Power above that 
looks on this ' 
And suffers it to be so? — sees a soul 
Out of its very guilelessness and trust 
Dragged down to hell, nor lifts a staying hand? 
Is it or God or Devil rules us? Speak! 
Proclaim Thee, God, by burst of holy wrath 
Shall sweep Earth clean of its iniquities ! 
Art Thou all-perfect and canst brook such wrong, 
Rewarding greed with gain, and crime with 

chance, 
And sin with stainless tools? O God! God! 
Or is there no God and no Devil — naught 
Save a vast superstition we call fate? — 
Naught higher, stronger, hoHer than himself. 



SC. V 



THe Nvin of Ilent 19I 



For man to reach to in a desperate need?— 
Oh, agony — oh, hell of helplessness! 

Scene v 

(CuTHBERT and Mistress Vane.) 

Mistress Vane: Yet here? Hold'st thou 
the ground she trod so dear 
Thou canst not leave it? 

CuTHBERT {passionately): I hold nothing 

dear 

In the wide earth,— nor herself, nor myself, 

Nor thyself, who did'st bear me for this hour! 

Mistress Vane: Was it such joy to bear 

thee, dost thou think, 

Thy hate compensates for the birth throes? 

How 
Am I despoiler of thy destiny 
Giving thee Hfe? Hate first my mother, save 
For whom I had not been to bear thee. 

CuTHBERT : Nay. 

Earth hath not room enough for all the hate 
Should fill it, did men hate where hate were due. 
Mistress Vane {her voice changing): Nor 
space hath only for the love that fills 
A single mother-heart. 

{She comes up to him tenderly,) 
OCuthbert! Son! 
Would God thou wert again the little child 
Upon my knee, to whom the mother-love 



192 The N\jin of Rent act ii 

Was all sufficient for the moment's need; 

Now outgrown hast thou the sufficiency, 

Yet not the need. 

Cuthbert: Forgive! The poisoned heart 

Drops gall on whom stands nighest. 

Mistress Vane : To forgive 

Were to concede offence. Sweet son, come home. 

Cuthbert: Home? What is home? A gar- 
den space, where hopes 

Set i' the sun grow tall like tended flowers — 

An Eden, where glad hearts contented wait 

Their dreams' complete fulfillings. Wherefore 
those 

For ever done with joy and hope, for them 

No home is. 

Mistress Vane: Faith, thou 'rt wrong. 
Home is a shrine 

For spent sick souls to creep to and be healed 

By miracle of love. Come thou with me. 

Cuthbert: There is no succour for me in 
God's world — 

Nay even not in thy matchless mother-love. 

A task is on me of such magnitude 

All my unequal flesh revolts. Hark! Hark! 
{He turns to her, speaking low and fast 
and with intense bitterness.) 

If there were one more dear to thee than life, 

Who, sleeping, walked, thou vainly following, 

One pure from sin as is the driven snow — 

Who in that blinded trance — thou vainly by — 



sc. V THe Nun of Rent 193 

Leapt to a rotting branch that bridged a chasm, 
And stood so, sleeping, dreaming, smiHng, death 
And hell agape beneath her naked feet — 
One dearer than thy life — whiter than snow — 
What bitterer torture could thy heart endure? 
Mistress Vane : Sure, none ! 
Cuthbert: Sure, none. Yet say, if she, 

sleep-locked, 
Stood smiling there, and thou — awake — aware — 
For conscience' sake — for country's sake — 

God!— 
Must strike that quivering bough with thy Hve 

foot, — 
Thyself must thrust it down to fiery hell 
With her upon it, — her more dear than life, 
More pure than snow, more helpless than a 

flower, 
More innocent than ever babe that breathed — 
O God, hath hell a horror beyond this? 

Mistress Vane : I cannot follow ! Hath thy 

speech import? 
What craze is on thee? 

Cuthbert: Would to heedless Heaven 
It were the illusion of a frenzied brain ! 
Why must I do this thing? Why must it 

be 
The one who loves her — out of all that live — 
Now must betray her? I! Mother — I! 

{He staggers away, and drops his face on 
his raised arms,) 
13 



194 TKe Nvin of Rent act ii 

Mistress Vane: His love hath maddened 
him! 

CuTHBERT (recovering himself and forcing him- 
self to speak with calm) : Nay, nay, not 
love, 
But pity. Pity for such innocence 
Yoked with such sin. 

Mistress Vane (incredulously): Who sins? 
The Nun of Kent? 

CuTHBERT (bitterly): Ay, this high saint. 
She most unsaintly sins. 

Mistress Vane: What frantic words are 
these! How should Beth sin? 

CuT-BB^RT (rapidly): Mother; those monks, 
— ^those hell-begotten fiends — 
Plot treason ! They are banded 'gens the king, 
By what fell scheme or craft hell only sees. 
With Beth to countenance it as God's will! 

Mistress Vane: Monstrous! most mon- 
strous! Canst not save her, thou? 

CuTHBERT (lifting both hands to Heaven, with 
a groan) : I can betray her. Ay. Betray, 
I can. 

Mistress Vane (thunderstruck) : Betray her? 
—Beth? 

Cuthbert (fiercely, though with an effort at self- 
control) : What else? Am I a knave, 
To leave these knaves unpublished? 

Mistress Vane : But — ^the maid ? 

Cuthbert : I must. 



sc. V THe N\in of Rent 195 

Mistress Vane: Thou canst not. 
CuTHBERT {hopelessly): Must doth override 
Life's cannots. 

Mistress Vane {wringing her hands) : Son — 

the doom is death ! 
CuTHBERT (in agony) : God ! 

(He steels himself to quiet.) 
Then dies she, too, with those her fellows. 
Mistress Vane : Dies! 

CuTHBERT (fiercely): Whom am I sworn to 
serve? Henry or Beth? 
Henry is England. 

Mistress Vane (weeping) : Beth is thine own 

self. 
Cuthbert: To save mine England, thus I 
slay myself. 

(More gently.) 
Tempt me no more. Would'st lure me to the 

wrong 
With thy divine compassion? 

Mistress Vane : Were it crime 

To bide thy peace, and leave the event to God? — 
Only to bide thy peace? — Is it a sin 
To close the lips on speech heard out of place 
By ears untimely open? Leave it God. 
Why must thou speak? 

Cuthbert (bitterly) : How should I hold my 
peace. 
Knowing the evil? Can I wink at it. 
And be as knew I not ? This God of thine 



196 THe N\iii of Hexit act ii-sc. v 

Is slow of justice, else were many a sin 
Strangled at birth, that stalks forth now full- 
grown. 
At need men do God's work. 

Mistress Vane {overcome and dropping to her 

knees) : O God ! help ! help ! 
Cuthbert: If prayer can find out Heaven, 
pray God help Beth. 

(He turns away.) 
Mistress Vane: Thou goest? — Now? — So 

instant ? 
Cuthbert (gently) : Mother, farewell. 

(He stoops and kisses her.) 
Mistress Vane: Thou goest? 
Cuthbert: Canst thou ask me if I bide, 
My king in peril, and I English born? 
I go. If so be thou canst find God, pray ! 

(Exit.) 

(Curtain falls.) 



ACT III 

(Scene i — A cell in the Priory. Father Bocking 
writing. Enter Fathers Bering and Rysby. 
The latter flings himself down on the pallet.) 
Rysby: Divinest rest! No greater good 

hath Heaven! 
Booking {pushing hack papers and looking 
up expectantly): Ye only? Father 

Goold ? 

Bering: He follows soon. 

Rysby {absently): How may feet follow 

shortly so long road? 
B OCKING : And Father Rich — where bide they ? 
Bering: For the nonce 

With Masters. 

Booking {sharply): Wherefore? 
Bering {shrugging his shoulders): A new 
brand this morn 
Uncasked. 
Booking: Sots! They would travel twenty 
leagues 
To taste a wine, who care not go a rod 
To win a mitre! — Masters — what his word? 
Bering: He waits our summons. 
197 



198 THe Nvin of Ilent act hi 

Bocking: Ere long shall he hear 

The trumpet call. Archbishop Warham ? 

Bering : Sends 

His holiest greetings to our sister-saint : 
Commends her boldness in the Lord; approves 
Her revelation as God's righteous word, 
And lends his prayers to speed her on her way. 
Bocking: His gold were better. — Salisbury 

— what from her? 
Bering: The Countess standeth to us, and 
the same 
The Marchioness of Exeter, with all 
Their chaplains, households, servitors, and 

squires — 
A goodly number. 

Booking: And Sir George Carew? 

Lord Rochester? Sir William? — How with 
these? 
Bering: The same. 
Booking: Good. Good. What 

more of Rochester? 
Bering: My Lord petitions Heaven for its 
sweet grace. 
And meanwhile dons his armour. 

Booking: That's the prayer 

Shall speed us farthest. And from Abel {to 

Rysby)— Thou, 
Father, what message? {To Bering.) Pluck 

that pillow out. 
He sleeps a'ready. 



sc. I TKe Nun of Rent 199 

Rysby {snatching at pillow): Hold there! 

Peace! Good Lord! {Sinks hack.) 
BocKiNG {sternly): What word? 
Rysby {sighing) : Alas, sweet sleep ! {Rises.) 
Well, Father Goold, 
Ogling a la-ss or two along the way, 
And dining off fat soups and goodly wines 
To strengthen his weak apostolic soul. 
Thy matter unto Father Abel brought. 

Bocking: And he ? 

Rysby: Did bring it to Queen Catherine 
Through the confessional. So holy road 
Perforce must sanctify it, Father — eh? 

Booking: Speak but thine errand. Leave 
thy fantasies 
To curl around the slimness of thy prayers. 
Rysby: Well thought. They do lack some- 
what of past grace 
Since I to prattle treason tuned my tongue. 
Booking {impatiently) : Father, I pray, 

thine errand! What hast more? 
Rysby: Her Majesty that was, Queen 
Catherine, 
And Princess Mary — Majesty to be — 
Did lend two royal ears most worshipful 
To the blest message from our holy Nun. — 

{Muttering): Faith, it may stain them 
somewhat ! 
Dering: By the mass, 

The hour is come to strike! . 



200 THe Nian of Rent act m 

BocKiNG {exultantly) : The tide is full ! 

Rysby {reluctantly): And bears me on its 
bosom. All too far 
The appealing quiet of receding shores ! 

Bocking: Ay, all too late to hark back to 
the long 
Relentless level of the pallid strand — 
Too late to sink upon the sands and sleep. 
High runs the flood of my ambition ! Strong, 
Indubious, swift, the current of my will, 
Compelling onward toward a consummate sea! 
Rysby: There must I swim — or sink. 
So be it, then. 
At worst an easy death. 

Bocking: Nay! nay! a prize 

Worth having lived and died for. Power! 
Power ! 

Scene ii 

{The cell of the Nun of Kent. Early morning. 
Elizabeth, in a hoy's suit of mail, buckling 
on a light sword, etc.) 
Elizabeth: I wonder was she fairer than 
I am. 
This maid they tell me of — ^this Joan of Arc? 
She was a peasant, Father Bocking saith. 
Scarce more than child. So I. And she was good. 
Yet Heaven did make me saint, and not so her, 
Though she saved Spain — or France? Ay, 
France it was — 



sc. II TKe N\in of Rent 201 

Such courage had she. She led men to war. 
Now that I could not. I could stride a steed, 
Or bear a banner, but I fail of strength 
To look on blood and carnage. I turn sick 
At thought of pain. How bore the soldier maid 
The awful memory through after nights? 
What reaped her valour? I must ask anon. 
Perchance, for award, God let her just be glad 
In her own way, alone with one she loved. 
Joan. Joan. A solemn name. But Beth, 

breathed low 
And lingeringly, as though his lips were loath 
To part with so dear sound — I like it best. 
Ay, sweeter 't is than St. Elizabeth. 
Ah, Love, could'st see me now! 

{She looks at herself in delight.) 
I look so tall, 
And show so shapely in my silver mail ! 

{She turns her helmet admiringly in her hands.) 
And this white plume hath droop more maidenly 
Than sombre veil of Nun. I am that Joan 
Come back to do a nobler deed than hers. 
For England is the greatest of all lands. 
And I save England, where she saved but France. 
I must fast well to do so holy work, 
And make a many prayers to compass it. 
I must be very saintly. It was sin — 
That thought of Cuthbert. O dear Lord, give 

grace ! 
I am not fain to love him, but the love 



202 THe Nian of Rent act m 

Is older than my sainthood, and more strong. 
I wonder did this Joan a lover have, 
And did to leave him drain her heart of blood? 
Would not she, too, had choice been granted 

her. 
Have foregone all Fame's laurels but for this — 
To make home fair for him and win his smile? 
Shame! Shame! I must not think unholy- 
thoughts. 
Yet why was love created if 't is sin? 
Why given so lovely aspect? Get thee hence, 
Deceiver! leave me passionless and calm. 
The day of trial dawns. I must to prayer; 
Must purge my heart of its minutest fault. 
Must cleanse each thought, and fit my feeble 

soul 
To meet the mighty moment. 

{She kneels, wringing her hands.) 

dear Lord, 

I asked no fearsome honours of Thee. Why 

Didst set me on these perilous heights, nor 

give 
With saintship somewhat too of bravery 
To bear its penalties? — Dear God, I fear! 

Scene hi 
(Elizabeth and Bocking.) 

Bogking: Daughter! 

Elizabeth {rising in frightened haste) : Here, 
Father. 



sc. Ill THe Nvin of Rent 203 

BOCKING: Art thou yet equipped? 

Elizabeth : All, save my prayers. 

Bocking: 'Tis well. {Points to helmet.) 

Cap thee and come. 

Yonder an armM throng awaits thee. See 

Thou speak to them alone the appointed words. 

{She tremblingly puts on helmet, then 

shrinks hack.) 

Elizabeth: But yet a moment, Father. 
I would say 
An Ave. 

Booking : Thou may'st say thy fill the mom. 
This day hast thou to act — not meditate. 
The instant presses. 

Elizabeth: Nay, a moment more! 

I have not asked God's blessing on me. 

Booking : Come. 

Thou shalt have all the night to pray in. Deeds 
Are day's best prayers. 

Elizabeth {sinking to her knees): Father, 
I am afraid ! 

Booking {roughly): Out on thee! What 
hath come to thee? Afraid? 
Thou — England's Saviour — is it thine to quail? 
What fearest thou? 

Elizabeth : Alas, I know not what ! 

An agony of terror rends my soul. 
Is it an angel that would warn me back 
From tasks too great for my endurance? Oh! 
I fear! I fear! 



204 THe N-un of Ilent act iii 

Bocking: It is thy country 's call ! 

{He comes nearer and catches her hy the 
arm, pointing eagerly outward.) 
It is the voice of England — the great voice 
Of a great stricken land — entreating thee. 
Thou tremblest? Ay, what soul stood not 

aghast 
Fronting the spectre of King Henry's doom! 
Thou art afraid? Yea. Yea. So vast the 

affront, 
So slight the hand to avenge it, so divine 
The guerdon! Joan, too, thus a brief space 

shrank 
Before the glory of her mission. Thus 
She, too, first feared, then dared to conquer. 

Know, 
There is a fear braver than courage is. 
That fear be thine. 
Elizabeth : Father, thy speech lends 

strength. 
Where wait those I must hearten? Bring me 

yon. 
I will breathe out thy spirit into theirs — 
Will flash thy soul upon them — make them 

brave ! 
Haste, Father! Hasten while thy spell yet 

holds, 
And fire Hghts my tongue! 

Bocking: Come, Daughter, come! 

{Exeunt.) 



scs. IV. V THe Nun of Rent 205 

Scene iv 

{A large hall in the Priory. Mendicant and 

Observant Friars. Fathers Bering, Rich, 

GoOLD, and Rysby moving among them 

incitingly.) 

Friars: The Nun! The Nun! Fetch us 

the Nun! 
Rysby: Betimes. 

Goold: She comet h, comrades. 
Bering : Bide her holy will. 

She waits upon the Lord. 

A Friar: She prays so long 

Our swords rot in the sheath. 

Rich: Bown with King Hal! 

Bering: Is no King Hal! Hath not our 
blessed saint 
Biskinged him and uncrowned him in God's 
name? 
Friars: Ay! Ay! We have no king! 
Bering: But have a queen! 

Rysby: Or shall have, in God's season. 
Friars: Ay! Our queen! 

God save Queen Mary! 

Scene v 

iXhe same. Bocking ushers in Elizabeth. 
Later soldiers enter.) 
Bering {in a loud voice): Heaven's Am- 
bassadress ! 



2o6 THe Nvin of Rent 



ACT III 



All: The Nun! The Nun! 
Bocking: Children, behold God's saint! 

So found I her, apparelled as for war, 
Lost in her visions. 

Bering: Listen! Mark her words! 

Rysby : Sobeit she speak to you. 
A Friar: God bless our saint ! 

Earth never saw as fair. 

Friars : God bless our saint ! 

Bering : Give ear to her. 
Bocking {to Elizabeth): Speak, St. Eliza- 
beth! 
Hast thou no word of import for these souls 
That wait on Heaven's high will? 

Elizabeth {coming forward modestly) : Yea, 
God so bids. 
Else held I now my peace. What words be- 
seem 
A maiden's lips in so great hour as this? 
But Heaven commands. I speak that God 
ordains. 
Goold: hearken, hearken. Brothers! 
Rich : Hark to her ! 

Bering: Her words are God's words! 
Elizabeth {solemnly and slowly): In the 
awful night 
God spoke, with words that struck across the 

dark 
Like thunderous lightning, blasting where they 
fell, 



sc. V THe Nxin of Rent 207 

Stripping proud Sin of its concealing grace, 
And laying it all hideous and bare 
Along the land — a scar to fright the world. 
God spoke. My chastened soul stood still to 

hear, 
And quailed in hearing. 

Booking : Who should hear God speak, 

Nor falter? Oh, thou highest, nearest, best. 
Avow thy mission. Speak to us deaf-mutes, 
Who hear alone through thee. 

Friars (kneeling) : Declare it us ! 

Show us God's will! 

Rysby (remorsefully) : Have mercy Thou, 
good Lord! 

(Elizabeth suddenly draws her sword and 
raises it high above her head, both arms 
lifted.) 
Elizabeth: God's will is war! War agens 

sin! 
BocKiNG (hastily prompting her): The king! 
Elizabeth (excitedly): Ay! War! War! 
War 'gens sin and 'gens the king! 
(As all are watching Elizabeth, soldiers 
noiselessly enter the hall from rear.) 
Bering: War 'gens King Henry! 
Friars : Henry is king no more. 

Bocking: Long live Queen Mary! 
Friars (more and more wildly) : Mary! 

Mary ! Queen ! 
We have no king, and Mary is our queen ! 



208 The N\in of Rent 



ACT III 



Bering {low to Elizabeth) : Continue. Fair 

begun ! 
Rich {low to Elizabeth): Speak! Speak! 
Elizabeth {bewildered) : What more? 

I have forgot. 

BocKiNG {aloud, prompting her) : Through 

thee the Spirit speaks. 
Elizabeth {remembering) : Oh, hark! Through 
me God's spirit speaks! Hark! Hark! 
I am the unworthy mouthpiece of the Lord, 
But His these words I utter ! Unto you 
His holy message! Arm! And in His name 
Dethrone that recreant monarch, falsely king. 
With her whose love unkings him! Arms! 
To arms ! 

{She rushes with lifted sword into the crowd, 
then stops suddenly and turns to 
Booking, pointing to the soldiers, who 
during the above have gathered increas- 
ingly in the hall.) 
See, Father, who are these? 

Bocking {with a terrible cry): Betrayed! 
Betrayed ! 

{Great commotion. More and more troops 
file in till they fill the hall.) 
Official {calling in loud voice above the 
tumult): In names of Cranmer, 
Cromwell, Latimer, 
The persons of these traitors now here found 
In very act of treason, I arrest — 



sc. V THe N\jn of Hent 209 

Elizabeth, the so-styled Nun of Kent, 
With Booking, Bering, Rysby, Rich, and Goold. 
{A panic ensues. The friars flee on all 
sides while the guards seize and hind 
the five monks in spite of violent re- 
sistance. Elizabeth stands bewil- 
dered. Rysby turns to her as the 
guards approach.) 
Rysby: Child! Child! fly! save thyself! 
E'LiZABETii(dropping her sword and clasping her 
hands together) : What mean these cries — ? 
This frightful rout — ? God save us, is this 
war? 
Rysby : Fly, fly, poor innocent I 
Guard {seizing her) : Or innocent 

Or guilty, she must hence to London. 

Elizabeth: OflE! 

Loose me! How dar'st thou touch me! 

Guard {tightening his hold): By the rood, 
But yesterday I had not dared it ! 

Elizabeth {to Bocking, who stands white and 
still, paralysed with the shock of the sudden 
defeat) : Help ! 
O Father, help me! Bid them let me go ! 
They know me not. Tell thou them who I am. 
(Bocking pays no heed and is borne away 
unresisting). 
Guard {picking up her sword contemptuously) : 
Ay, ay, we know thee. Thou who yestere'en 
Wert holiest saint, a traitor art the mom ! 
14 



210 THe N\in of Ilexit act m 

Elizabeth: That I was yestere'en I am 
this hour — 
A saint — God's saint. Take your rude hands 

away 
Ere Heaven avenge the insult! Let me free, 
Or I cry out to God to free me ! — God ! 
God! Hear me! Help me! Dear God, save 

thy saint ! 
God — God — save — 

(She is overpowered and home off.) 
Rysby: Dies iras. All is done. 

God hath avenged Himself. 

Guards : To London ! Hence ! 

{Curtain falls .) 



ACT IV 

Scene i — {London. The Star Chamber. Cran- 
MER, Latimer, and Cromwell. The Nun, 
Fathers Bocking, Bering, Rysby, Rich, 
and GooLD arraigned before them. Guards 
in the background.) 
Cromwell: What boots it further parley 
with these knaves? 
Deeds prove themselves, nor need expositors. 
Cranmer: Truth, truth, good Cromwell. 
Yet so foul a blot 
Should not unevidenced besmirch these souls. 
Were it but false! 

Latimer: Might all things false prove true! 
Thou, Bocking, speak. Art thou unjustly 
judged? 
Cranmer: Speak thou for all. With these 
thou standest here 
Adjudged a traitor; with these art condemned. 
An aught thou canst advance may temper justice 
To some poor show of mercy, speak. 

Bocking: My Lords, 

I speak nor for these others nor myself. 
I own no kinship with these coward souls 

211 



212 THe N\in of Ilent act iv 

That have confest their guilt for fear of it, 
And myself stands acquitted to myself. 

Cranmer : God judge thee, Friend, as lightly ! 

Bering {furiously to Bocking): Now, by 
God, 
Thy pride, my fellow, needs a wrench or two, 
Ere thy neck seemly fit the traitor's block ! 
Braver than shameful silence are stout words, 
And we, by bold admission of our sin. 
Less cowards than thyself. (To Cranmer.) 

Why then, my Lord, 
An it do please thee, we be traitors all, 
Yet till thine axe untongue me, I '11 maintain 
Ours was a mighty scheme, and that it failed. 
Its chief est fault. 

Rich {to Bocking) : Curse thee, I say ! 'T was 
thou 
Brought us to this! 

Goold: Ay, curse him! But for him 
The safety of the cloister held us still. 
'T was his ambition wrecked us, choosing out 
Our souls as steps to climb on. Living — dead — 
I curse him ! 

Rysby: Brother, peace! How may thy curse 
Harm him or better thee? We trod one way. 
Tempter and tempted. One mud soils the foot 
Of him who beckons and of who pursues. 
We all have sinned, nor he there more than all. 
He sinned for strength, where we for weakness 
fell 



SCI THe Nvin of Rent 213 

That truckled to his will. Our doom is 
just. 
Elizabeth {who has listened in increasing 
amazement): Just? Heavens! Who 

spoke? What crime is this of ours? 

What sin lies on our souls? Who dares con- 
demn — 

Who dares to stay us on our way? — My Lords, 

Sure some strange error hath you. Ye know not 

Our persons. I am St. Elizabeth, 

The Nun of Kent, chosen of Heaven's good 
grace 

To free this stricken land from Henry's rule 

And crown our Mary queen; — and me, ye charge, 

And these my followers, with some grave sin 

Whereof we do reck nothing. Let us go, 

My Lords. Command the doors be opened us. 

The good cause suffers while ye hold us here. 
Rysby {remonstrating) : My little lass ! My 
little lass ! 

' Cromwell: Her words 

Condemn herself. 

Cranmer {pityingly): So fair fanatic! And 

So innocently guilty before Heaven! 

Latimer: May that her innocence right her 
poor soul 

I' the Judgment hour. Here dies she with the 
rest. 
Elizabeth: I die? I die? Good God! — 
and these? — These too? 



214 TKe Nvin of Rent act iv 

Wherefore our death? — Oh, Father Booking, 

speak ! 
What crime illusory have these confest? 
Why art thou silent? Help me to fit words. 
Dear Father, speak! How can I show to these 
The sacrilege they purpose? Of myself. 
How can I frame rebuke? 

Bering: Peace, chattering fool! 

He will not heed thee more. 

Elizabeth: This — this to me! 

How dar'st thou thus address me? Whence 

so swift 
This graceless speech, this look contemptuous? 
Wherefore forgot the honour due me? {To 

BocKiNG.) Thou! 
Speak for me this once more. Tell these great 

Lords — 
These monks so metamorphosed — who I am! 
Thy word they must believe! 

BocKiNG {turning upon her): Truce to thy 
cries, 
Thou miserable wench ! No saint art thou. 
Thou pride-stuffed puppet, vaunting thy glass 

gems. 
But a vain woman, tricked to fit the r61e — 
A poor weak lass, — an empty, brainless thing 
I chose among all for thy foolishness. 
Thine ignorance, thy vainest vanity. 
To fool this England with. And thee — and thee 
I passed off on thy fellows as a saint ! 



SCI THe N\in of Kent 215 

Elizabeth: Great God, are these ears mine 

that hear? — ^this I 
Of whom he speaks? Father—my Lord— my 

Lord — 
Dear Father Rysby ! {She appeals from one to 

the other.) Wherefore turn away? 
Why wilt not look at me?— thou, Father — 

thou — 

(A pause. All move hack from her. She 
recoils in sudden conviction.) 
Nay, is it so? Am I that thing he said? — 
That awful thing? — a He to mine own self? 
A falsehood, flung out living on the world 
And dressed in saintship? — my God, my 

God, 
What am I? Who this I?— I am not I?— 
I am some monster, stranger to myself 
Than to the world that spurns me? — God 

forgive ! 
My brain reels. {She staggers.) 
Cranmer: Help there! Look! The 

maiden falls. 
Elizabeth {repulsing them) : Touch me not ! 

Take your cruel hands away! 
Can ye give back the self he robbed me of? 
God judge betwixt us twain! Mine ignor- 
ance, 
My folly, and my vainest vanity, 
Be they confest ; but how then has he sinned 
Who thus undid me! God betwixt us judge! 



2i6 THe N\in of K.ent act iv 

Rysby {remorsefully) : God judge betwixt us. 

Yea, may God so do. 
Cromwell {to guards): Bear hence. 

{The guards lead away the prisoners.) 
Rich {to Bocking): Our blood be on thy 

head ! 
GooLD : Curse him ! 
Bocking: The stakes are lost. But thus 
much still is mine. 
I palmed thee on thy fellows for a saint ! 
Elizabeth {as Booking is led off) : Nay, hold ! 
Hold only till I curse him, too, 
Him I accounted as a second God 
And followed on my knees! Hold, for my 
curse! 
Cranmer: Hush — hush! 
Elizabeth {passionately): Hush? Nay! 
Who prayed him he abstain 
When he first thought to kill my soul with 

lies? 
Who had compassion on my ignorance. 
And cried him mercy for my foolishness? 
None. None. Earth hath no pity for the weak. 
Wiser who sins, than dares be sinned agens! 
Latimer {to guards) : Bring her away. She 

waxeth over loud. 
Elizabeth {resisting): Stand off! Where 
bring ye me? The crime I did 
Was done myself, none else. Oh, pity! spare! 
Let me go free ! Bring me to no foul gaol ! 



sc. I TKe Nxjin of Rent 217 

Am I not shamed enough? Let me go hence! 
Let me go find one tender heart to die on — 
One tender arm to shield me from disgrace ! 

Latimer: The law thou hast transgressed 
adjudges thee 
The traitor's doom. 

Cranmer: Alas! A very child! 

Elizabeth: Traitor? I? I? Now by our 
stainless God, 
My soul is lily-pure of ill intent ! 
How have I sinned? How should I know the 

law? 
For me was but one law — obedience — 
And that I followed straightly. 

Latimer: To thy death. 

Bear the lass hence. 

Elizabeth {flinging herself upon the floor at 
his feet): Oh, once more, pity! Hear! 
Not life I ask. Life were not worth the prayer. 
But give me only to see Cuthbert once, 
To clear my soul before him ere I die ! 
We twain were lovers in the old dear days — 
The sweet glad days. He will not hold at 

fault 
Though the whole world contemn me. He will 

know 
I sinned not in my soul albeit I die. 
Let me but send for Cuthbert ! For one hour — 
One moment — speak him ! 

Cromwell: Cuthbert? Nay! Not him! 



2i8 THe N\jn of Rent act iv 

Cranmer : Poor maid ! 

Latimer {softened): There — ^take thy hands 
from round my feet. 
I may not grant thee this. 

Elizabeth {despairingly) : Oh, dear my Lords, 
Have mercy on me! Through earth's length 

and breadth 
There 's never one that loves me save but him. 
Grant me my dying prayer! I have no gold; 
How shall I bribe ye? Have ye hearts of 

stone? 
See. I will lay this hand upon the block. 
That ye may cleave it, living, from mine arm — 
This, too {she extends both arms) , so you but only 

bring him me 
This single once before I come to die ! 

Latimer: Rude truths are wholesomer than 
kind deceits. 
Elizabeth, art strong to suffer? 

Elizabeth {joyfully, baring her arms) : Yea ! 
Oh, strike, strike quickly! I do need no hands 
To hold his heart ! 

Latimer: Elizabeth, 't was he 

Denounced thee, with thy followers. 

Elizabeth {dazed) : 'T was he ? 

Latimer: Ay; Cuthbert. 
Elizabeth {after a pause, putting hand to 
forehead): Cuthbert? — Cuthbert? — It was 
he 
Denounced me? — For what crime? 



SCI THe N\in of Rent 219 

Latimer: High treason. 

Elizabeth {after still longer pause): Could 
He know my fate? 

Latimer: He knew the doom was death. 
Elizabeth {wildly, to the guards, throwing up 
her arms) : Enough. Enough. Bear me 
away. I am 
Already judged. I have already died. 

[The guards carry her off. 

Scene ii 

(Cranmer, Latimer, and Cromwell. Guards. 
There is a struggle at one of the doors, and 
CuTHBERT, followed by his mother, forces his 
way in.) 
Cuthbert: My Lords! 
Mistress Vane: O gracious Lords, pray 
heed him not ! 
He is beside himself. 

Latimer {to the other Lords) : Let us begone. 
Our business is done. 

Cuthbert: A hearing! Pray! 

Cranmer: Ay, when the dead speak. 
CuTHB ERT : Hear me ! 

Latimer: Good my Lords, 

Will it please you go? 

Cuthbert {desperately, placing himself in 
their way): My Lords, if you be good, 
It shall please you stay and hearken. I am come 
To yield me up to justice, in the stead 



220 THe Nun of Rent activ 

Of one Elizabeth, the Nun of Kent, 
Whom ye here hold for treason. 

Mistress Vane {wringing her hands): He 
is mad ! 
I do entreat you, hear him not ! 

Latimer (coldly) : The law 

Demands Ehzabeth of Kent — not thee. 

CuTHBERT : Guilty of over loyalty am I 
As she of too great innocence. Take me, 
And set her free. More traitor I to her 
Than e'er she to the king. 

Mistress Vane: My Lords — my Lords — 
He is mine only son ! 

Latimer: We do waste breath. 

Justice retains its own. 

Cuthbert: Hold me for her — 

Were not that justice? She is innocent 
Of will. Let me atone her guilty deed. 
So is the law avenged, and she yet lives! 

Cranmer: My son, thy prayers are idle. 
(To the others.) Let us hence. 

Cuthbert: My Lords, I ask but justice — 
naught beside. 
I sue you for no favour. Take my life 
In ransom for her Hfe. The sin she sinned 
Unwittingly, let my death expiate 
In what extremity of torturous shame 
Men can devise. Let her but live! 

Cromwell : Peace. Peace. 

Cuthbert: Hear me! 



sc. Ill TKe N\in of Rent 221 

Latimer: No more. Her sentence hath 
been read. 
EHzabeth, the Nun of Kent, accused 
Of treason, is found guilty and condemned. 

{Exeunt Lords.) 
Cranmer {passing out) : May Heaven now 
comfort thee, and her. 

{Exit.) 

Scene hi 

(CuTHBERT and Mistress Vane.) 

Cuthbert: She dies! 

She dies ! O justice, what abhorrent crime 
Of mercilessness in thy name condoned ! 
Blind, blind thy judgments! False thy scales 

that weigh 
Bare deeds, unbalanced by the soul's intent! 
She dies for innocency — dies for lack 
Of knowing it was guilt that touched her — dies 
For others' sin, although to me denied 
The right to die for hers ! 

Mistress Vane: Would God thou hadst 

But closed thy lips! — but held thy peace! 

Cuthbert {fiercely): Be still! 

Wake not the struggle in my maddened soul! 
*Twixt her and honour was there choice? Ah, 
God! 

Mistress Vane {slowly ^ after a pause) : Cuth- 
bert, she shall not die! 

Cuthbert: Not die? 



222 The N\in of Kent 



ACT IV 



Mistress Vane {putting finger to lips) : 

Speak soft ! 
CuTHBERT (coming closer): Speak quick! 
What hath thy woman- wit devised? 
Canst save her? Oh, speak quick! Show thou 

it me. 
Then shall I know there is a God in Heaven ! 
Mistress Vane: Shame thee, blasphemer! 
Is a maiden worth 
Thy faith in God? Hark. This my thought— 

to gain 
Speech with the Lord Lieutenant of the Tower. 
Cuthbert: Sir Frederick? How may he 

help our strait? 
Mistress Vane : Long days ago thy father — 
blest his soul! — 
Did him brave service in a heavy hour 
Should now bear timely fruit, if gratitude 
Be not a seedless flower in his breast. 
I will but beg our access to her room. 
So small a mercy should not irk him grant; — 
Nay rather, it should please him that he come 
So light off in our weighing of accounts. 
Cuthbert: And how bring Beth away? 
Mistress Vane : Her person is 

One height with mine. If in the dusk thou 

come — 
I being within and way made clear for thee — 
Who, in the uncertain light, shall see to mark 
If she or I, wearing this cloak of mine 



sc. Ill TKe Nvin of Hent 223 

With hood drawn close, return again with thee? 
And for the rest — I 11 e'en contrive a way 
To follow. 

CuTHBERT {jailing on his knees): Now, our 
God be gracious! Look! 
Thy thought is life! Mother, I pray again! 
{Curtain falls.) 



ACT V 

(Scene i — A prison cell. Elizabeth, in peasant's 
dress J seated with folded hands and bent head, 
oblivious of surroundings. A ray of the set- 
ting sun J slanting through one of the barred 
windows, is creeping toward her along the 
floor. A young woman, the prison attendant, 
is seated at some distance at another window, 
busy with needlework and humming softly to 
herself. The approaching ray at last catches 
Elizabeth's eye.) 
Elizabeth: O lovely light! Dost thou not 
fear to soil 
So fair a foot, treading a prison floor? 
Here all is sin and dolour ; yet thou dar'st, 
Thou holy thing, to chase the dark away? 
Thou dear Hght, linger! Must thou soon be 

gone? 
This day is all I have. To-night I die. 
Make my time longer, thou compassionate 

light! 
Borrow a moment from the night that comes, 
To add it to this day that is my all. 
Keep back night's shadows. Lay thy silver hand 
224 



sc. II THe N\an of Rent 225 

Across the stars, and bar them from their places. 
{Rises and goes to the window.) 
Stand off, thou horrid night! Along the west 
The scarlet palpitates for fear of thee. 
The giant clouds, marshalled as sentinels 
Around day's open gates, have sighted thee 
And broken from their post, and flee dis- 
mayed. 
The whole earth is aghast at thee, night. 
And I? Can I endure thee? I have sinned, 
And sin dreads shadows. And to-night I die. 
And death is uttermost of darkness. Night, 
Or sin, or death — which is most terrible? 

{She moves slowly away from the window^ 

and stands awhile with clasped hands; 

then reseats herself j and falls again into 

a deep r every.) 

Scene ii 

{The same. Enter Mistress Vane, closely cloaked. 
Attendant springs up.) 
Attendant: Who art thou? — No one enters 

here. 
Mistress Vane {beckoning her aside): 

Whist! Whist! 
Thy gallant waits without the postern door. 
Attendant: My Robin? Hola! 

{She starts eagerly off, then bethinks her- 
self and returns.) 
15 



226 THe N\in of Rent actv 

Name thee. Who art thou? 
Who charged thee with thine errand? 

Mistress Vane {showing written paper) : 

Go in peace. 
See. This my passport; this (giving riband) 
thy Robin's sign. 
Attendant {glancing at paper): The Lord 
Lieutenant's seal! 'T is well. — Hi! Hi! 
The broidered band! {Going, pauses again.) 
How pass the Keeper? 
Mistress Vane: Pish! 

He '11 stay thee not. A new-brewed ale he had 
In gift to sup on. Thou 'It come safely through. 
Leave thou the latch unset, that my son mount 
To fetch me forth. Anon, when we twain pass, 
My son and I, returning, slip within, 
And so take up thy task again 

Attendant: Ay. Ay. 

Wilt guard her close? 

Mistress Vane: Closer than thou. Fear 
naught. 
May'st bide thy pleasure. 
Attendant {joyously) : Look thou weary not ! 

{Exit,) 

Scene hi 

(Elizabeth and Mistress Vane.) 
Mistress Vane {muttering): Thy Robin 
tend thee well. The time is ours! 

{Approaches the window.) 



sc. Ill THe Nxin of Rent 227 

Will yon slow sun ne'er make an end of day? 
(She seats herself far off from Elizabeth 
by the window, whence she keeps 
anxious watch, Elizabeth, lost in 
revery, has paid no heed to the dialogue, 
nor to the change of companion.) 
Elizabeth {rousing after a pause) : Is 't 

night? 
Mistress Vane {keeping her face averted): 

*T is nigh on vespers. 
Elizabeth : Tell thy be s: ds . 

It may be God will hear thee for me too. 
I am afraid to pray. I wronged God so 
I fear the angels would rise up in wrath 
And beat my prayers back, did I kneel to pray. 
Mistress Vane: Nay, God hears every 
prayer. {Aside.) The pink pales fast. 
The night adjusts her robes. 

Elizabeth: Nay, not all prayers, 

Else were there many we would fain unpray. 
And there was one — Oh, years agone it was — 
That He did never hear. Dear Lord, it ran, 
Make us twain one, and make Beth very good. 
Yet I, who prayed for goodness, alas! I 
Have sinned beyond all others. I, who prayed 
I might be Cuthbert's wife, by Cuthbert's self 
Am given to death. Oh, that was sorry prayer 
That had such sorry answer. And to-night 
I pray no more, my prayers go so awry; 
And yet my soul is heavy with desires 



228 THe Nvin of Rent act v 

That crowd for utterance. Pray thou for me. 
Pray fast; pray long; for I am nigh to death, 
And God is very just. 
Mistress Vane: God is all love. 

(Aside) : 
Now comes the slow-stepped dusk on languid 

feet! 
Elizabeth : I do need mercy. I have sinned 

a sin 
Exceeding any other. Hast thou heard? 
I was so ignorant, so monstrous vain, 
I did believe them when they called me saint. 
Yea. Yea. So vain. As were 7 shaped thereto! 
It shames me to remember. Yea, so vain, 
I thought myself elect of God to speak 
His wrath against the king. I might have 

known 
That had God spoken, the whole world had 

heard — 
Not only we in Canterbury town. 
Yea, I have sinned; have sinned; and what 

hell holds 
Deeper damnation than sin's consciousness? 
Mistress Vane: Thy thoughts turn too 

far inward. Woo them back 
To healthier daylight. 

Elizabeth : Who is near to death 

Consorts with shadows, and explores the dark 
To try if his poor faith have power to pierce 
To a beyond. What recks he more of sun. 



sc.iii The N\an of Rent 229 

Or midday skies, or small sweet earthly things, 
On whose stunned sense, vast, vague, and 

terrible. 
Beat the far soundings of eternity, 
Wave after wave? 

Mistress Vane {to herself): Yon shines 

night's signet star, 
Sealing day dead! 

Elizabeth : Oh, tell me, what is death? 
Is it all darkness, silence, and a pang? 
The dark hath ever led my soul in clogs, 
And from a child I am afraid of pain. 
A finger's touch jars every quickening nerve. 
And silence — Ah, the weirdest 't is of all. 
One hears the heart beat in it like a voice 
Entombed, struggling to make its terrors reach 
Out to the living. 

Mistress Vane {at the window): Fast the 

dear night drops 
Her tender shadows ! Fast the world grows dim ! 
Elizabeth: Oh, tell me, what is death? 

I am afraid. 
My warm young flesh shudders at thought of it. 
How can I die? — how can I cease to be? 
Although all others die, can I? — Nay, death 
Comes only to the weary or the old. 
Not to the young! — not to the bounding veins. 
Instinct with life! — oh, not to me, to me! 

Mistress Vane {absently): All men needs 

die in time. 



230 TKe N\in of Ilent act v 

Elizabeth {quickly, turning toward her): 
Yea, yea, in time. 
But I die out of time, before my heart 
Hath ripened to its possibilities. 
I am but a beginning — but a sketch 
Blurred in designing — but a might-have-been 
Spoiled for eternity. I die with all 
My future like a dead bud in my hand. 
To what good have I lived? This tiny span 
Of years, what hath it brought me? Alas, what ! 
To be thrust forth, unshriven and undone, 
From sin, because of sin, and in my sin, 
To meet a sinless God! 

Mistress Vane {springing up excitedly): 
Hark! Hark! At last 
He comes! 
Elizabeth {alarmed): Who seeks me here? 
Who climbs my stair? 
Prithee, bar close the door! 

Mistress Vane : Hast thou forgot 

So soon his step? — so soon forgotten me? 

{She throws off the concealing cloak and 
hood.) 
Elizabeth {recognising her) : Thou, Mistress 
Vane! Thou here! and Cuthbert — Ah! 
Let him not in ! 

Mistress Vane {moving toward door) : Cuth- 
bert! 
Elizabeth {detaining her): Nay. Never 
more. 



scs. IV, V THe Nun of H.ent 231 

Who was my lover is become my judge. 
My sin stands, flame-like, 'twixt my heart and his. 
Mistress Vane {calling) : Cuthbert ! Come 
quickly! quickly! 

Scene iv 

{The same. Cuthbert hurries in. Elizabeth 
gives a low heartbroken cry. They stand 
looking at each other.) 
Mistress Vane: Haste! Oh, haste! 

A life hangs in the balance of this hour ! 
Follow ye me. I go to watch the way. 

{Exit.) 
Scene v 

(Elizabeth and Cuthbert. He advances, beck- 
oning with outstretched arms.) 
Cuthbert: Come! Come! 
Elizabeth {retreating): Nay, whither? 
Cuthbert {joyously) : Forth with me — to life ! 
Elizabeth {gravely): I may but forth to 

death. 
Cuthbert: Life hath tricked death! 

Life claims thee! Come, oh, come! Veil thee 
in this. 

{He draws her to him and folds Mistress 
Vane's cloak about her.) 
Love calls, and thou art free ! 

Elizabeth {throwing off cloak) : How am I free, 
Whom sin holds fettered? 



232 TKe Nvin of Rent act v 

CuTHBERT {trying to force her forward) : O my 
God! the hour 
Wanes fast, each beat a drop of thy heart's 
blood! 
Elizabeth (holding back): Would it might 
bleed to death here 'neath thine arm. 
So were it sweet to die. 

CuTHBERT : So swccter life, 

We two aye soul to soul, and free! Oh, haste! 
Delay is death! 

Elizabeth : I scarce may credit it. 
Am I yet dear to thee — I who so sinned? 

Cuthbert: Dearer than all things earthly 
or divine. 
Why wilt thou torture me? Come with me! 
Come ! 
Elizabeth: Hast thou forgot thou gavest 
me to die? — 
Forgot I here await sin's recompense? 
Cuthbert: Mock me not thus! 
Elizabeth: I mock not. Who dares mock 
Upon the threshold of death's gravity? 
I may not go with thee. 

Cuthbert (attempting to seize her in his arms) : 
Thou shalt go, Beth, 
Now Heaven itself hath lent us furtherance. 
Safet}?- awaits thee yonder. 

Elizabeth (springing from him to the window) : 
Back! One step, 
And hence I summon aid ! 



sc. V The Nvin of Rent 233 

Cuthbert: Beth — Beth — not thus 

Avenge thyself! Give not thy life to prove 
Me unforgiven ! 

Elizabeth {very gently): Dear, I love thee 
so, 
To gainsay wish of thine itself is death. 
Oh, tempt me not! Life in thine arms were 

Heaven. 
Yet death wins closer, cleansing me from sin. 

Cuthbert: Thou hast not sinned, Beth! 
God knows — oh, God knows 
Thou art unjustly judged, unjustly doomed. 
The priests misled thee; theirs alone the sin. 
'T is for their sin thou diest. 

Elizabeth {still more gently) : Dear my love. 
Accuse not those who wronged me. I have 

wronged 
A country, where they wronged but me. Sin 

lies 
Between us; Heaven will fair apportion it; 
But me my soul convicts. 'T is just I die. 
'T is of God's goodness — of His pitying grace 
He sent thee here to bless this crowning hour 
With the dear benediction of thy love. 
Urge me no more. Not e'en for that love's sake 
May I go hence. Thus, dying, I undo 
My sin. Keep thou my memory as one 
Who living was unworthy, but who, dead, 
Grew to thy height, and merited thy love. 

Cuthbert: Beth! 



234 THe N\jin of Rent actv 

Elizabeth {coming to him): Beth again at 
last — nor saint, nor nun ; 
Only thy little Beth who loves thee so, 
Come back to rest this last once on thy heart. 
(CuTHBERT/o/<i^ her to him in agony. Out- 
side there is the tramp of approaching 
feet and the sound of slow drums.) 

Scene vi 

{The same. Enter Mistress Vane wildly, followed 
hy guards.) 
Mistress Vane : God, it is too late ! They 

come! They come! 
CuTHBERT : The guards ! 
Elizabeth {disengaging herself from him): 
Mine hour hath come ; the one great hour 
That rounds each life, bearing the trembling soul 
Back to its birthplace, naked and alone, 
Save for its sins. {Kneels.) God, I did fear 

death, 
Yet fear not Thee, so hath love vanquished fear. 
I go to Thee as goes a child to rest, 
Sure of Thy mercy. 

{The guards surround her. Behind open 
doors stand others guarding the five 
monks. Muffled drums heat continu- 
ously.) 
Cuthbert {fiercely to the guards): God's 
curse fall on you ! 
Ye bring a saint to shame! 



sc. VI TKe Nvin of Rent 235 

Elizabeth: Alas! Not so. 

They bring a traitor to the traitor's end 
And an impostor to the world's disdain. 
They do but justice. Mother, fare thee well. 
Cuthbert — my love— my love — {She is led away,) 
CuTHBERT {passionately): I die with thee! 
One fate shall yet be ours! Oh, let me hence! 
{He rushes madly after her^ but is repulsed 
by the guards.) 
Let me die with her — I, the guiltier! 
Have not I murdered her for Henry's sake? 
Shall murderers go free? 

{The guards thrust him back and close the 
doors. The slow drums beat without^ the 
sounds gradually receding.) 
Cuthbert {wildly) : I may not die? 
Mercy stops short of justice? I live on — 
I, who have given her lovely soul to death — 
Nor pay the price with mine own piteous life? 
Now God, forgive! 

{He draws a dagger. His mother leaps to 

wrest it from him.) 

Mistress Vane : Cuthbert ! — Son ! — Son ! — 

Cuthbert: Forgive! 

{He stabs himself to the heart and falls dead. 

The drums beat faintly in the distance.) 

{Curtain falls.) 



Miscellaneous Poems 



237 



TO 

ELINOR COMSTOCK 



239 



IN MY WINDOW-SEAT 

I AM sitting in my window-seat, 

And all the world is still ; 
Only the shadows 'neath my feet 

Are creeping up the hill, 
And the shadows above are stooping down 
As if to lay o'er the sleeping town 
The folded mantle, soft and brown, 

They have dropped to my window-sill. 

More dim, more dense the twilight grows; 

A silence falls on earth 
As if it waited for the throes 

Of some immortal birth. 
The stars throb out with fitful light. 
Like a golden pulse in the veins of night, 
And across the heavens, thin and white. 

Stretches the silver girth. 

Then out upon the quivering dark — 

The palpitating sky — 
Athwart the gloom that seems to hark 

A decree that bids it die, 
i6 241 



242 In My Windo^v-Seat 

Dropped from a hand beyond our sight 
There falls the glittering long moonlight, 
Like a sword down-flashing through the night 
That it severs in passing by. 

And as if wakened at the touch 

To tremiilous delight, 
Yet tinged with earthliness overmuch, 

Come the voices of the night, 
Now sad as notes of mortals are, 
Now sweet, mysterious, and far 
As from seraphs poised on a distant star, 

But winged for nearer flight. 

My soul, borne upward with the sweep 

Of the solemn exultant lay, 
Borne on by the music grave and deep 

Is lost in the pathless grey. 
Around me are living thoughts astir. 
Above Truths interlace and blur. 
Beneath lie shadows of things that were, 

And dreams dreamed through by day. 

And as I watch, lo, over all. 
O'er sea, and hill, and wood, 

A wondrous presence seems to fall 
Out of the clouds that brood — 

Something immeasurably grand, 

As if the shadow of God's hand 

An instant lay across the land, 
And near us angels stood. 



In My WindoMv-Seat 



243 



And a holy murmur fills the air, 

A strange delicious thrill, 
As if men's hearts awoke in prayer 

To 1 sten to God's will, 
And, listening, heard a summons sweet 
Beyond compare, and ceased to beat. — 
And I sit alone in my window-seat, 

And the world is very still. 



THE SUNLIGHT 

The Sunlight, the Sunlight, 

It Cometh apace! 
It breaks through the dun light 

Of night-shadowed space! 
It comes with a glimmer, 
A sparkle and shimmer. 
The moon showeth dimmer, 

The planets give place! 

It bendeth, it rendeth 

Night's prisoning bars! 

Exultant out-sendeth 

Its voiceless hurrahs! 

O'er bulwarks and bowers 

It scatters bright showers, 

Like luminous flowers 

Grown out of the stars. 

souls that lie sleeping 
In doubt and in n ght. 

Wake, wake from your weeping! 
Day comes, in despite 

Of cavil or grieving. 

Man's best of believing, 

Is but the receiving 

Of Heavenly Light. 



244 



TO A ROSEBUD 

O LITTLE timid rose, 
That if the zephyr blows 

Tremblest with fear, 
dainty tender one, 
That blushest if the sun 

Glances anear. 

Yet fragile as thou art. 
The secret of thy heart 

Who thinks to win? 
Closer than bars of gold 
Thy silken petals hold 

The prize within. 

And winds in vain may blow, 
And fiercest sunbeams glow 

Above thy head; 
For when thy sweet heart lies 
Open to eager eyes, — 

Lo, thou art dead! 



245 



PAIN 

I AM a Mystery that walks the earth 

Since man began to be. 
Sorrow and sin stood sponsors at my birth, 

And terror christened me. 

More pitiless than Death, who gathereth 

His victims day by day, 
I doom man daily to desire Death, 

And still forbear to slay. 

More merciless than Time, I leave man youth, 

And suck life's sweetness out. 
More cruel than despair, I show man truth, 

And leave him strength to doubt. 

I bind the freest in my subtle band. 

I blanch the boldest cheek. 
I hold the hearts of poets in my hand, 

And wring them ere they speak. 

I walk in darkness over souls that bleed. 

I shape each as I go 
To something different. I sow the seed 

Whence grapes or thistles grow. 
246 



Pain 



247 



No two that dream me, dream the self-same 
face. 

No two name me ahke. 
A horror without form I fill all space. 

Across all time I strike. 

Look how man cringes to mine unseen rod ! 

Kings own my sovereignty. 
Though seers but prove me as they prove a God, 

Yet none denieth me. 

I come! I come! Life's monster Mystery, 

I come, to bless or damn. 
Kneel, kneel, vain soul ! Helpless, acknowledge 
me! 

Thou feelest that / am I 



DAY-DREAMS 

Oh, sweet are the dreams that darkness brings — 
The fragrant roses that slumber fi'ngs 

Into the garden of night ; 
But sweeter far are the dreams that Day 
Drops all along life's woful way, 
As the Ivory Gates behind him sway 

On their hinges of dappled light. 

Oh, beautiful dreams, that spring like flowers 
Out of the seeds of life's dark hours, 

Watered with tears of pain ; — 
Lilies that bloom mid sterile sands, 
Too frail to transplant to happier lands, 
Too fair to gather in mortal hands, 

Too dear to lose again. 

Oh, beautiful, beautiful, waking dreams. 
That flow like forest-hidden streams 

By the foot-worn paths of Day ; 
Streams that go singing for Love's own sake; 
Streams that their sweetest music make 
Out of the very stones that break 

The smoothness of their way. 
248 



Day-Dreams 249 

Oh, exquisite dreams, that softly show 
Through the grey-spun veil of earthly woe, 

Like stars in wintry skies, 
Too far to make our own, so near 
They tempt our grasp, laid, large and clear, 
On Night's dark forehead, sphere on sphere — 

Jewels from Paradise. 

O stars that vanish, flowers that fade. 
Streams that are lost in the woodland shade, 

Bubbles that break with a kiss, — 
O dreams that from the hidden roots 
Of buried sorrows, like green shoots 
Grow toward the light, yet bear no fruits, 

Are ye less fair for this? 

What though ye be naught but mist-made 

dreams? 
Richer our lives e'en for fugitive gleams 

Of hopes that may ne'er be ours! 
Then pray for a dreamless sleep who wll — 
For a slumber no vis ons have power to thrill — 
But oh, thank Heaven that gives us still, 

The dreams of our waking hours. 



LOVE SONG 

As when the day is done 
The clouds troop one by one 

Toward the sun, 
So turn my thoughts to thee 
For aye, unceasingly, 

Where'er thou art; 

Day of my heart ! 

As grows toward the light 
The pale shoot hid from sight 

In earth's deep night, 
So upward to its goal, 
Swift stretches out my soul 
To where thou art. 
Light of my heart ! 

As brooks merge in the bay, 

As April bursts to May, 
Morn swells to day, 

So am I lost in thee. 

So must thou ever be 
Of me a part. 
Heart of my heart! 



250 



IN THE BEAUTIFUL 

Be still. Be still. Do not speak. 

The charm of the hour, 
Fallen soft as a tear on a cheek, 

Holds me dumb in its power. 

Be still, oh, be still! Speech were pain 

In a moment like this. 
Call me not earthward again, 

E'en with a kiss. 

Leave me alone with my heart, 

To tremble and thrill. 
Oh, leave me before the tears start. 

Or stay — and be still! 



251 



THE MILKY WAY 

Evening has come; and across the skies — 
Out through the darkness that, quivering, dies- 
Beautiful, broad, and white. 
Fashioned of many a silver ray- 
Stolen out of the ruins of Day, 
Grows the pale bridge of the Milky Way, 
Built by the architect Night. 

Dim with shadows, and bright with stars, 
Hung like gold lights on invisible bars 

Stirred by the wind's spent breath. 
Rising on cloud-shapen pillars of grey, 
Perfect it stands, like a tangible way 
Binding to-morrow with yesterday, 

Reaching to Life from Death. 

Dark show the heavens on either side; 
Soft flows the blue in a waveless tide 

Under the silver arch ; 
Never a footstep is heard below. 
Echoing earthward, as measured and slow, 
Over the bridge the still hours go 

Bound on their trackless march. 
252 



TKe MilKy Way 253 

Is it a pathway leading to Heaven 
Over Earth's sin-clouds, rent and riven 

With its supernal light, 
Crossed by the souls of the loved who have flown 
Stilly away from our arms, and alone 
Up to the beautiful, great, white Throne 

Pass in the hush of night? 

Is it the road that our wild dreams walk, 
Far beyond reach of our waking talk, 

Out to the vague and grand — 
Far beyond Fancy's uttermost range. 
Out to the Dream-world of marvel and change, 
Out to the mystic, unreal and strange — 

Out to the Wonderland? 

Is it the way that the angels take 
When they come down by night to wake 

Over the slumbering Earth? 
Is it the way the faint stars go back. 
Driven by insolent Day from his track 
Into the distant mysterious Black 

Where their bright souls had birth? 

What may it be? Who may certainly say? 
Over the shadowy Milky Way 

No human foot hath trod, 
-^ons have passed; but unsullied and white. 
Still it stands, fair as a rainbow of night, 
Held like a promise above oui dark sight, 

Guiding our thoughts to God, 



THE STORM-KING 

Stand back! Stand back 

From my giant track ! 
Sweep the grey dust from the way! 

See the pale grass bend ! 

See the great trees rend ! 
Hurrah ! I am Lord of the day ! 

I am Master and King 

Over everything — 
I am Monarch, and Earth must obey! 

Weave me a gown 

Of yon cloud's black frown, 
Which shall keep me warm as I go. 

Pluck me a whip 

From the spars of 57on ship 
And a staff from that forest below, 

And this tall church-spire 

Is the tip I desire 
For the arrow I set in my bow. 

I am King! I am King! 
The whole world shall ring 
My mad coronation bell ! 
Cities are shaking. 
Men's hearts are quaking, 
254 



The Storm-Ring 255 

As they quake before Azrael. 

I am coming! I come! 

Beat, beat the drum! 
Let the echoes my advent tell! 

Hurrah, oh, hurrah! 

Beneath moon and star 
How will I revel at night ! 

I will build me a fire 

Where hills stand higher, 
And scream and exult in its light, 

And write out my name, 

In red letters of flame, 
In cowering mortals' sight. 

I hiss and I mutter, 

And none knows if I utter 
Or blessing, or curse, or prayer. 

None knows what I speak; 

Though I storm and I shriek. 
None interprets the message I bear. 

I rave and I rage. 

And Earth's wisest sage 
Hears no more than the brute in his lair! 

I am King! I am King! 
And to me one thing 
Is beggar, or courtier, or pope. 
I thread into rags 
The proudest of flags. 



256 TKe Storm-Ring 

Or the end of the hangman's rope. 

I scoff in lords' faces. 

I jeer in high places. 
I shout on the graveyard's slope. 

Oh, delight! Oh, joy! 

The world is my toy ! 
Hurrah ! I am Lord of the day I 

I rule all alone 

On my self -raised throne. 
And none may dispute my sway! 

Then stand back ! Stand back! 

Sweep the dust from my track ! 
I am Monarch, and Earth must obey! 



THE DANCE 

Let the music play! 
I would dance alway — 
Dance till the dawn of the bright young day! 
Wild notes are sounding — swift lights are glanc- 
ing, 
And I — I am mad with the rapture of dancing — ■ 
Mad with a breathless delight. 

With thine arm to enfold me, 
Thy strong hand to hold me, 
I could dance through an endless night. 

Doth the music play? 
Or is it — oh, say — 
But the sound of thy voice that I hear for alway? 
Is it thy smile or the sweet lights glancing? 
Is it thy presence or only the dancing 
Makes the whole world so glad? 
Love I — ah me ! — 
Or the dance, or thee? 
Am I mad? Am I mad? Am I mad? 

Bid the music play ! 
Let us dance alway — 
Through all life — ^through all time — dance for- 
ever and aye ! 
17 257 



258 TKe Dance 

Such wild notes are sounding! Such bright 

lights are glancing ! 
And I — I am mad with the madness of dancing — ■ 
Of dancing? — or dancing with thee? 

Let thy heart's love enfold me! 
Thy heart's strength uphold me! 
Let us dance till earth ceases to be! 



THE BEGGAR 

All day, all the day, in the dust, in the heat, 
With maddening brain and with staggering feet, 
I stand on Life's highway, and beg my soul's 
meat. 

All day, all the day, in the cold, in the rain, 
Through days that are vapid and timeless with 

pain, 
I stretch out my hand to the rich — and in vain. 

Oh, my soul is a-hungered — my soul is athirst! 
It cries out to mortals as one God-accurst, 
Abandoned of Heaven, when life is at worst. 

Say, say, is there any 'neath heaven's blue sky 
So beggared of faith, hope, and courage as I? 
Give, give, oh, my brothers ! Give, give, or I die ! 

Shall I famish and faint in the midst of Life's 

mart. 
And ye who seem pitiful, spare not a part 
Of your souls' garnered wealth for one needy 

poor heart? 

In vain ! Ye fling alms to the rags that ye meet ; 
But souls that lie naked and starved at your feet ; 
These cry out unheard, and must die on the 
street. 



259 



THE FOG 

It lies dim and cold on the face of the mould, 

Like a smile on the lips of the dead. 
As chill and as white, as dense and as light 
As the winding-sheet laid in the still of the night 
Over the funeral bed. 

No pulse seems to throb, no voice dares to sob 

Beneath the grey calm of the cloud. 
A hush holds the air with pale bands of despair, 
Too close to be pierced by a curse or a prayer — 
The hush of a soul in its shroud. 

No stars in the sky ; no lights low or high ; 

No laughter; no weeping; no breath; 
No murmur, no sound in the whole world around. 
But a silence that lies blank and chill on the 
ground. 

Like the visible presence of Death. 

No murmur. No sound. Only white on the 
ground 
There creeps the thin silence along — 
Creeps near and more near, — oh, so dim! oh, so 

drear ! 
Till I shiver, as one who has stood by a bier, 
And the words die away in my song. 



260 



ONE SILENT BIRD AMID A THOUSAND 
SINGING 

One silent bird amid a thousand singing, 
One muffled bell amid a thousand ringing, — 
On the earth or in the air 
Doth it make silence anywhere? 

One lagging foot amid a thousand fleeting. 
One sinking heart amid a thousand beating, 
Save the God who lists for prayer, 
Doth there any heed or care? 



261 



IN THE HOSPITAL 
I 

Grimed with misery, want, and sin, 

From a drunken brawl they brought him in, 

While tearless-eyed around his bed, 
They whispered coldly: "He is dead," 

And looked askance as they went past, 

And said: "Best so. He has sinned his last." 

But the surgeon sighed : ' ' Alas ! Not so. 
A flicker of life is yet aglow." 

And day and night beside the cot, 
He stayed his step, desisting not; 

By night, by day, with travail sore. 
Fought for the life so nearly o'er — 

The worthless life so nearly told. 

And the man returned to his ways of old — 

Went back unchanged to his old, sad ways, 
And sinned and sinned to the end of his days. 
262 



In tKe Hospital 263 

And the surgeon wrote in his private book : 
"Sin, sorrow, wrong, where'er I look. 

"I have saved a hideous Hfe. And why? 
That a man curse God again, and die." 

II 

The mother smiled through her wretchedness j 
For the new-born babe lay motionless. 

The nurses looked at her ringless hand. 

" ' T is well," they said. " We understand." 

But the surgeon sighed: **Alas! Not so. 
Life's feeble current yet may flow." 

And day and night the cot beside. 

He tireless watched, naught left untried, 

And wrestling close and long with Death, 
He brought again the faltering breath, 

To give the poor unwelcome life 
Back to the mother who was not wife, 

Who took with loathing and with shame 
The babe that had nor place nor name. 

And the surgeon wrote in his private book: 
**Sin, sorrow, wrong, where'er I look. 

" I have saved a needless life. And why? 
That a babe risk Heaven before it die." 



264 In tKe Hospital 

III 

With pitying hands and gentle feet, 
They bore a child in from the street, 

Mangled and bruised in every limb, 
With brow snow-cold and blue eyes dim. 

And they kissed the hair on his golden head, 
And sobbed: "Thank God, the child is dead." 

But the surgeon sighed: ''Alas! Not so. 
Life lingers still, though ebbing slow." 

And day and night, beside the cot, 
No means unused, no skill forgot, 

Striving as if with strength of ten, 
He won the broken life, agen 

Back from the brink of Death's calm river, 
To struggle, sicken, suffer forever — 

Back from the shores where sleep the dead, 
To toss long years on a terrible bed. 

And the surgeon wrote in his private book: 
"Sin, sorrow, wrong, where'er I look. 

" I have saved a sorrowful life. And why? 
That a child taste hell ere allowed to die." 

And the surgeon closed his book, and said : 
*' Three live by me who best were dead." 



In tKe Hospital 265 

Beyond the Hospital 

The surgeon*s work was done. He lay 

Upon his death-bed, old and grey, 

Outspent with giving to mankind 
His best of heart and hand and mind. 

And he crossed his arms above his breast, 
"Come, Death," he said, "I long for rest." 

"God judge me lightly. What I could, 
I strove for; yet wrought harm for good." 

Then swiftly, all of space was riven 
To where the angels stood in Heaven. 

And he heard one say: " A wise man dies, 
Shall I go down and close his eyes?" 

" Not yet," they said. " 'T is in his book: 
*Sin, sorrow, wrong, where'er I look.' 

" Is he fit for Heaven who needs learn first, 
That good may underlie life's worst? — 

"Who needs to look beyond the event 
To comprehend life's full intent?" 

Then through the room was a sound of wings, 
Like a breath across aeolian strings. 



266 In tHe Hospital 

And the angels stood around his bed. 

** Unlearn Earth's falsehoods, friend," they said. 

And straightway, lo, his quickened gaze. 
Saw through the world and its inmost ways. 

To where one grovelled steeped in sin. 
Grown to the very beasts akin. 

*' Ah," cried the surgeon, " I am cause 
Yon wretch still lives to break God's laws." 

" Hold!" said the angels. " Canst thou teU 
What sin consigns his soul to hell? 

*' Or doubtest thou but some late grace 
May find, e'en him, in Heaven a place? 

" Pity and help; but dare not say 
Life should be shortened by a day ; 

" For as men are turned by a warning light, 
So yon stray soul points wanderers right." 

The shadow left the surgeon's brow 

As lifts the mist from a breeze-swept bough; 

And he bent his wondering eyes away 
To where a cradled infant lay, 



In tHe Hospital 267 

While the mother beat her breast for shame 
That the babe must lifelong bear her blame. 

"Ah, but for me," the surgeon cried, 
*'This guiltless babe had guiltless died." 

But the angels smiled on the sleeping face. 
"Greater than ours its granted grace, 

'* For these frail hands," they said, "hold back 
The mother's soul from utter wrack. 

"Pity and help. But dare not say 
Life should be shortened by a day ; 

"For sweeter rest that is wage of toil: 
And purer purity held through soil." 

There dawned a light in the surgeon's eyes 
As if day broke through midnight skies ; 

And his gaze sought out a darkened spot 
Where a child tossed, moaning, on his cot, 

Martyred in every shuddering vein. 
Through noons and nights all one with pain. 

The surgeon groaned. " Ah, but for me 
The child were spared this agony!" 

"Soft," said the angels. " What dost know 
Of the beauty wrought on earth through woe? 



268 In tHe Hospital 

"Pity and help. But dare not say 
*T were better hasten death a day : 

**For as blossoms spring on sunless knolls, 
Some graces bloom but in tortured souls. 

"And a hundred hearts, beside that one, 
Have learned the joy of duties done; 

"Have learned unselfishness, patience, care. 
Beside that pain that none may share. 

"And the sufferer — Heaven deserts these not; 
God's arm is round him. Envy his lot." 

The surgeon lifted his dying eyes. 
And saw straight through to paradise. 

"Amen ! " he breathed. * * God stoops to the weak, 
The strong are they must farthest seek. 

" For every life this earth hath use, 
Despite sin, sorrow, wrong, abuse! 

"I thank Thee, Father, that those three 
For whom I wrought, yet live by me." 

Then through the room was a sudden sense 
Of something exquisite passing thence. 

Something immortally fine and rare 
That trembled, flame-like, on the air. 



In tKe Hospital 269 

Trembled and passed, and all around 
Was not a motion, nor a sound. 

And in the silence, old and grey 
And marble-still, the surgeon lay. 

But his lips were wreathed in supreme content. 
He knew, at last what Life had meant. 



A SONG OF THE SUNRISE. 

The night breaks. The light shakes 

Down from the sky. 
The darkness trembles: shivers, dissembles: 

Unwilling to die. 
And facile and fleet, on dusky feet, 
Out of the dripping sunlight tripping, 

Shadows pass by, 

All sprinkled and spattered 

With golden rain, 
All shivered, all shattered, like dream-ghosts 
scattered 

By the waking brain. 

The light dawns. The night mourns 

And the stars shiver. 
The moon pales. The loon wails 

Far down the river. 
And strong in the might of perfect delight, 
Fearless and bold with its wealth of gold, 

Stronger than sadness. 

Brighter than gladness, 

Mad with the madness 
Of victory won — 
270 



A Son^ of tKe Svinrise 271 

Above night's gloom, above life's bloom, 
Higher and higher, like a passioned desire, 
To the highest height of earth's blinded sight 

Rises the sun. 

And the battle is done. 

Yet afar, unforgetting, 

Hid by the hill. 
Night awaits the day's setting, 

Revengeful and still. 



MIDSUMMER 

A WIDE still valley, placid and deep, 

Where shadows, dream-like, gather and creep, 

And the sunlight lies like a smile asleep. 

A gleaming mass of yellowing wheat, 

That runs through the green like a golden street, 

Trodden all day by light butterflies' feet. 

A misty stretch of quivering corn, 

That stands adroop in the sheeny morn 

Like hearts with secrets too great to be borne. 

Fair glimpses of flowers mid tangles of fern. 
With dazzles of dew-drops that shiver and burn. 
And brooks like bright fancies that turn and 
return. 

Far over the whole an enchantment of peace — • 
A light like the glint of the Golden Fleece — 
A glamour of beauty too perfect to cease. 



272 



A MYSTERY 

Life held in her hands a measure, 

And swung it Hghtly and low; 
And she said : * * I will see if my pleasure 

Do not outweigh my woe." 
And she gathered all stingless laughter, 

All loves that were lasting and sure, 
All joys that left memories after, 

All wealth that was wingless and pure; 
She gathered all sunhght and starlight, 

All thornless and fadeless flowers; 
She gathered the faint light and far light 

Of pangless and perfect hours; 
She gathered all glimpses elysian 

That never had blasted the soul, 
All hopes that had held to fruition, 

All talents that won to the goal, 
All wisdom that never had saddened. 

All truths that never had lied, 
All ambitions that never had maddened. 

All beauty that satisfied. 
And flung them all, all in her measure. 

But nothing outbalanced the pain. 
Then she said : *' I must add yet a treasure, 

The kindest and best in my train," 
i8 273 



274 A Mystery 

And reached out and took Death, and laid it 

All restful and calm on the scale ; 
Yet pain, as be ore, still outweighed it, 

And sighing she cried: ** Could this fail?" 
Then she reached up to merciful Heaven, 

Took down and flung over Earth's strife, 
A little pale hope all unproven — 

The hope of a measureless life; 
Flung it down with a doubting and wonder. 

With question and touch of disdain; 
When lo, swift the light scale went under; 

Life's woe was outweighed by Life's gain. 

Oh, strange, oh, most strange! If the measure 

Of all mortal days be but woe 
Compared with their acme of pleasure, 

Life mused, as she swung the scale low. 
Why then should it lessen Earth's sorrow. 

Why glorify Death's consequence. 
To believe in a timeless to-morrow? — 

And Life held the scale in suspense. 



SLEEP 

Poor pain- worn mortal, dost thou weep? 
Awhile thy troubled patience keep. 
Night Cometh surely. Thou shalt sleep. 

Take up thy burden. Is the day 
Too long for thy lost courage? Nay: 
Night will overtake thee by the way. 

Thou shalt not hear; thou shalt not see; 
But better than death will come to thee, 
For, living, thou shalt cease to be. 

Better than death; for none hath told 
Death's consequence. And death may hold 
Undreamed-of terrors manifold. 

Death may be gain, or may be woe. 
Sleep hath no may-be. Sleep we know. 
It is, it was, and shall be so. 

No law, no conscience doth it keep 
Within its unimpassioned deep. 
Nor time, nor space, nor sin hath Sleep. 
275 



276 Sleep 

To sleep is to unlive ; to be 

As thou hadst never been; to free 

Thyself from all that maketh thee; 

Nothing but nothingness to know; 
To be unborn without a throe — 
Uncreate at a pangless blow. 

Then ye who fear, and ye who weep, 
A few short hours your patience keep. 
God must be good. For God made Sleep. 



GOOD-BYE 

We say it for an hour or for years ; 
We say it smiling, say it choked with tears; 
We say it coldly, say it with a kiss ; 
And yet we have none other word than this — 

Good-bye. 

We have no dearer word for our heart's friend. 
To him who journeys to the world's far end 
And scars our soul with going, thus we say 
As unto him who but steps o'er the way — 

Good-bye. 

Alike to those we love and those we hate, 
We say no more in parting. At life's gate, 
To one who passes out beyond earth's sight, 
We cry as to the wanderer for a night. 

Good-bye. 



277 



THE SETTING SUN 

One radiant out flash of surpassing splendour, 
And with the perfect peace of self-surrender, 

Without a tear. 

Without a fear, 
Like some high spirit summoned from our sight, 
The sun steps down into the unknown night. 



278 



TO A HURT CHILD 

What, are you hurt, Sweet? So am I; 

Cut to the heart ; 
Though I may neither moan nor cry. 

To ease the smart. 

Where was it, Love? Just here! So wide 

Upon your cheek ! 
Oh, happy pain that needs no pride, 

And may dare speak. 

Lay here your pretty head. One touch 

Will heal its worst. 
While I, whose wound bleeds overmuch. 

Go all unnursed. 

There, Sweet. Run back now to your play. 

Forget your woes. 
I too was sorely hurt this day ; — 

But no one knows. 



279 



I CAN NOT KNEEL— I CAN NOT PRAY 

I CAN not kneel — I can not pray — 
My dumb heart has no words to say. 
My stubborn knees refuse to bend. 
They kneel who pray, and to what end 
Should I kneel, who can make no prayer 
Out of my agonised despair? 
My sorrow lies beyond the reach 
Of any form of human speech. 
God is so great, and I so weak; 
How can so hurt a creature speak? 
How move Him to undo the woe? — 
Calm with the vastness of the blow, 
I can but gaze with stricken eyes 
Up into His imperial skies, 
Drop my vain hands upon my breast. 
And feel what God wills must be best. 



280 



MOTHER, MOTHER, CAN IT BE? 

Mother, Mother, can it be 
There hves any one but me 
Who has known this agony? 

Mother, O Mother, when they said 
That thy sweetest soul had fled, 
It was I who died instead. 

Thee they laid away to sleep 
Out of sight of all who weep. 
Me unburied still they keep. 

Who will show them I am dead? 
Who will ask that o'er my head 
Moan be made and prayers be said? 

More dead am I than thou art. 
Love lies spoiling at my heart. 
Who dares keep us twain apart? 

Dead, I know no more men's faith. 
Dead, I hear not what God saith 
Nothing am I but a wraith. 
281 



282 MotKer, MotHer, Can it be ? 

Restless, ghost-like, to and fro, 
Haunting thy dear home below, 
Speechless day by day I go ; 

Conscious only of a pain 

Rends my very soul in twain, 

Robs of Heaven and makes Earth vain. 

Mother, Mother, thou art where? 
Art not here, and art not there. 
And seeking, I but find — despair. 



THE POET-HEART 

One day, in Time's mythical ages, 

Fair Life, and her bond-servant Pain, 

Her workman, who works without wages, 

And wiser who is than all sages 
That follow the stars in her train, 

Together, in friendliest fashion 

Sat framing a true poet-heart; 
And with infinite care and compassion. 
Life chose out each charm and each passion. 

And blent them with marvellous art. 

Now fairer, she cried, than Earth's fairest, 

This exquisite spirit shall be. 
Enriched with all gifts that are rarest. 
Give heed that no power thou sparest 

In moulding my poet for me. 

Here are days that are golden and sunny. 
And a heart made to gather their Hght, 

And hoard it as misers hoard money. 

And hold it as flowers hold honey, 
And tremble and thrill with delight. 
283 



284 THe Poet-Heart 

Take, take, without stint, without measure, 

Of all that I have that is best ; 
Of beauty, of love, and of pleasure 
Take richly, and make at thy leisure 

A poet to sing me to rest. 

And so from her store-house of graces, 

Fair Life, with a smile, gave the whole, 
While Pain, with the stillest of faces. 
And fingers whose touch left no traces, 
Wrought her of these a soul. 

Then he stood up and said : It is ended, 
And held forth his soul to the light — 
A wondrous creation, where blended 
Strange shadows, and sunlight so splendid 
It darkened all else to the sight. 

Life took and beheld it in gladness. 

Such, cried she, true poets should be, 
All ecstasy, rapture, and sadness. 
Created in moments of madness. 

And fashioned, Pain-God, by thee. 

This, sure, is thy ripest endeavour, 

Cried Life, smiling soft as she spoke. 
Now poet-heart, sing on forever! — 
Alas! Earth will hear the song never. 

Pain touched it once more. — And it broke. 



MY LETTER 

From far away, from far away, 

It journeyed swiftly night and day. 

It rested not. With cruel haste 

It crossed the ocean's trackless waste. 

It swerved no moment in its flight 

Through mist and storm and deepest night. 

No mercy prompted it to stay, 

No pity moved it to delay. 

O'er seas that rose up to detain, 

Silent as Death it sped amain. 

Through cities crowding close and strong, 

Undazed, untired, it fled along. 

No voice cried out through all the land. 

Great Heaven saw, yet stirred no hand. 

No angel, kinder than the rest, 

Held his white shield before my breast. 

Across the land, across the sea, 

Straight, swift, and sure, it came to me. 

Unlet, unhindered, undeterred. 

Straight, swift, and sure, it brought me word ! 



285 



GOOD-NIGHT MOTHER 

Good-night, Mother. Thou dost sleep, 

While my lonely watch I keep. 

Suns blaze brightly overhead ; 

Moons pass by with silver tread; 

Night and day, and day and night 

Alternate with shade and light. 

But I know no change. To me 

All is dark apart from thee. 

Lost my life its whole of light, 

When I bade thee; dear, good-night. 

Good-night, Mother dear, good-night. 
Soft thy slumbers be and light. 
Though I call thee through the years — 
Call with passion of wild tears — 
May no dream of my unrest 
Cross the quiet of thy breast ; 
May no memory of me. 
Agonised on earth for thee, 
Come to grieve thee or affright. 
Good-night, Mother dear. Good-night. 

Good-night, oh, my dearest. Sleep. 
God hide from thee that I weep. 
286 



Good-nigKt MotKer 287 

Sleep, sleep, Mother, while I wake 
Life's long night through for thy sake, 
Bound up heart and soul and brain 
In a timeless stretch of pain — 
In a blank mid-night of sorrow 
That has neither moon nor morrow. 
God so wills. It must be right. 
Thine the slumber; mine, the night. 



PAIN WROUGHT 

Pain, Pain, the Creator Pain 

Is making a poet of me. 
He has flung my soul in the pit below 
Where his furnace fires the fiercest glow. 
He is feeding the flames with woe on woe. 
My heart must thrill with every throe 
That human creature can live to know. 

I must suffer that I may sing. 

Pain, Pain, the Creator Pain 

Is working his will with me. 
Ashes and ruin and havoc complete 
Has he wrought of all I held dear and sweet 
My soul lies scarred in the scorching heat. 
My thoughts run riot with blazing feet, 
Like madmen through a deserted street. 

And because I suffer, I sing. 



288 



IN LIFE'S TUNNEL 

Borne by a Power resistless and unseen 

We know not whither, 
We look out through the gloom with troubled 
mien. 

How came we hither? 

Darkness before and after. Blank, dim walls 

On either side, 
Against which our dull vision beats and falls, 

Met and defied. 

Shrouded in mystery that leaves no room 

To guess aright. 
We rush, uncertain, to a certain doom. — 

When lo, the light! 



19 289 



SYMPATHY 

Friend, art thou drowning? So am I. 

Hold by my hand. 
Nearer is my vain help, than help 

From yonder land. 

Friend, art thou starving? So, too, I. 

Therefore I come 
To thee — not to the over-fed — 

To ask a crumb. 

Friend, hast thou nothing? Less have I. 

Yet beggared ones 
Give more to those who beg than e'er 

Earth's richest sons. 



290 



WEDDED, BUT NOT MATED 

Wedding bells and death-knells 

Ringing forth together. 
(Shines the sun? or is it dun? 

Or is it stormy weather?) 
Oh, woe the knells ! Oh, joy the bells 

That sob and shout in chime! 
They bid to a marriage and funeral carriage 

At one and the self-same time. 

Wedding bells and death-knells 

Ringing forth together. 
(Be there sun or be there none, 

What care I for the weather?) 
They toll, they toll, for a tortured soul. 

They call to a marriage feast. 
One shall be wedded, one be buried, 

And both by the self-same priest. 

Wedding bells and death-knells 

Ringing forth together. 
(Falls the rain upon the pane? 

'T is time for saddest weather!) 
Funeral knells and marriage bells. 

A shroud and a wedding ring. 
A soul is wed. A soul is dead. 

The bells have ceased to swing. 



291 



WHERE AM I WHILE I SLEEP? 

Where am I while I sleep? When I lie down, 

Heavy with grief for one who sleeps so well 

My bitterest cry may no more waken her, 

I say: Let me sleep quickly, that perchance 

God send me dream of her, to ease my woe 

With sweet deceit of seeing her again. 

And so I He as they lie who are dead, 

My hands like folded flowers on either side. 

My sad eyes closed o'er all their frozen tears, 

And sleep for hope of that which sleep may bring. 

Where am I then, through all the unhistoried 

night? 
Down what dim a'sles, unreckoned of by day, 
Doth my dumb soul its trackless path pursue? — 
By what far shore find gracious harbourage? 
Oh, can it be that those who only sleep 
And those who die, together wait in Heaven 
The dawning of the day, soul welcoming soul 
And claiming kinship in a wondrous world 
Closed to ovLT waking vision? Can it be 
That thus on night's invisible borderland 
Our spirits meet beyond Earth's cognisance. 
Communing still in some strange heavenly sense 
292 



"WHere am I >vHile I Sleep ? 293 

That leaves its impress on returning souls — 

Some touch of infinite beatitude 

Beyond Life's gift — some strengthening peace 

that lends 
Endurance for the day? — Oh, this alone, 
Though neither memory nor dream thereof 
Remain to soothe our waking, this were cause 
To long for night's enfranchisement, to cry 
For slumber as for Heaven, and wake at last, 
Reclothed in calm, with new-won hope that death, 
Even as sleep, may give what day denies. 



HOPELESS 

There lay a soul in mortal pain, 

And given o'er, 't was said ; 
The wise men wrought and strove in vain. 

Naught can restore, they said. 
But Love stood by and laughed aloud. 
Earth's highest skill can weave a shroud, 

And nothing more, he sa d. 

I only in the world can give 

Drugs for her pain, he said. 
I only can give strength to live, 

Making life gain, he said. 
Upon your dulness lie the sin! 
Because no man doth call me in, 

She '11 die amain, he said. 



294 



AN ENIGMA 

To have not, is to long for with desire. 

To have, is but to lose. 
To lose, is to remember and expire. 

How may one rightly choose? 
Between a want, a loss, a lifelong pain. 
What, saving death, hath any soul of gain? 



295 



BETWEEN THE LINES 

FRIEND, you have read it aright, 
Just as I meant that you should. 

1 penned it in plain black and white. 

To be so and so understood. 

Yes, thus was it written, friend, 

According to every law. 
I swear it, I did not intend 

A syllable save what you saw. 

*T was all that I Willed you to read — 
Resolved that but this should be seen. 

Yet God! what a different creed 

My mad thoughts wrote in between! 

So you read only just what you could ; 

And the actual letter of all, 
Written with very heart's blood. 

Ah! — you never got it at all. 



296 



THE SONG OF THE CRICKET 

Yes, the world is big, but I '11 do my best 
Since I happen to find myself in it, 

And I '11 sing my loudest out with the rest, 
Though I 'm neither a lark nor a linnet. 

And strive for the goal with as tireless zest, 
Though I know I may never w n it. 

For shall no bird sing but the nightingale? 

No flower bloom but the rose? 
Shall the stars put out their torches pale 

When Mars through the midnight glows? 
Shall only the highest and greatest prevail? 

Nay nothing seem white but the snows? 

Nay, the world is so big that it needs us all 

To make audible music in it. 
God fits a melody e'en to the small. 

We have nothing to do but begin it. 
So I '11 chirp my merriest out with them all, 

Though I 'm neither a lark nor a linnet ! 



297 



IN THE TEENS 

Butterflies, and treasure 
Of buds that crowd the green; 

Sunshine without measure; 

Silvern days of leisure ; 

Hearts too full of pleasure; — 
April — and Thirteen. 

Books and half beginnings ; 

Rains, with lights between; 
Pangs o'er fancied sinnings; 
Toils, with rOse-leaved innings; 
Losses matched with winnings; — 

Maytime — and Sixteen. 

Dreams, with dim regrettings; 

Storms and blinding sheen ; 
Gains, with griefs for fret tings; 
Jewels, in crushed settings; 
Wounds, salved with f orgettings ;— 

June — ^July — Nineteen. 



298 



THE GIFT OF SONG 

When I was born 

God stood in Heaven, and asked: What wilt 

thou, Soul? 
I said: The gift of Song; 
I ask no more than this — that I may sing. 
God sighed, and lo, Grief fell 
From out high Heaven and smote me on the 

heart. 
I cried aloud for pain, and beat my breast. 
But all my cries were music, and men list, 
And feasted on the sweetness of my woe. 
While I, I hid my face. 
And knew not day from night for agony. 
O God, I cried, take back thy poisoned gift, 
The gift of Song! 
Let me be dumb for ever, only so 
My pain have ease! 

Then God did hear again, and stooped Him down 
And drew the burning arrow from my side; 
And silence fell on me ; my pulse stood still, 
My lips closed softly, and I sang no more. 
But men turned from me, saying: He is dead. 



299 



SWEET MOTHER OF MY DREAMS 

Sweet Mother of my dreams, 

Come, come to-night ! 
How can I meet an added morrow, 
Till thou bring solace to my sorrow, 

Cleaving life's pain 

By night in twain? 

Sweet Mother of my dreams. 
Bring love! Bring peace! 

As day is death by loss of thee, 

So night is life by gift of thee, 
Albeit I waken, 
Twofold forsaken. 

Sweet Mother of my dreams, 

Thank God for thee! 
Not all Christ's mercy is forsworn. 
While I, sometimes, twixt dusk and morn. 

Still touch thy hand, 

In slumber-land. 



300 



COURAGE 

Hast thou made shipwreck of thy happiness? 

Yet, if God please, 
Some humble port awaits thee none the less, 

In nearer seas. 
Where thou mayst sleep for utter weariness, 

If not for ease. 

The haven dreamed of thou shalt never reach, 

Though gold its gates. 
And wide and fair the silver of its beach. 

For sorrow waits 
To pilot all whose aims too far outreach, 

Toward darker straits. 

Yet so no soul divine thou art astray. 

On this cliff's crown 
Plant thou a victor flag ere breaks the day 

Across night's brown, 
And none shall guess it doth but point the way 

Where a bark went down. 



301 



AN AGNOSTIC 

No disciple am I, Lord, 
Doing battle for Thy word, 
Girt with truth as with a sword; ' 
Yet I follow Thee. 

I am struggling in the night ; 
Nowhere is a point of light ; 
Doubt hath hid Thy cross from sight ; 
Yet I follow Thee. 

Who can say what lies before: — 
Gateways to a golden shore. 
Or but death for evermore? 

Yet I follow Thee. 

Hope is dead in my dead heart ; 
Faith I had not from the start ; 
From all creeds I stand apart ; 

Yet I follow Thee. 

Be Thou God, or man, or aught 
Save a vision overwrought 
By men's yearnings, I know naught ; 
Yet I follow Thee,— 
302 



An Agnostic 303 

Follow Thee through pain and gloom, 
Though to lose Thee in the tomb. 
Yet to love Thee is my doom, 

And I follow Thee. 



TO A WOUNDED MOTH 

What help have I for thee, frail thing, 

Least of thy clan, 
Battling 'gainst fate with bruised wing? 
Albeit I hold thee in my hand, 
Farther am I from thee than stand 

The stars from man. 

Dost thou cry out ? Dost thou make moan ? 

I hear thee not. 
Thy worst pain thou must bear alone. 
The utmost pity on my part 
Can drop no balsam to thy heart. 

It is thy lot. 

And yet, more merciful to thee 

Than Heaven to us 
Through year-long plaint of agony — 
More kind than He, of whom in vain. 
Kneeling, we beg surcease of pain, 

I kill thee — thus. 



304 



LOVE NOW 

You will love me the day I lie dying. 

Oh, love me then living, 
While yet from a full heart replying, 

I give to your giving. 

What gain hath my Hfetime of loving, 

If you pass it all by. 
To give me back treble my loving 

In the hour I die? 

All anguish, all maddest adoring 

Will be vain in that day. 
Though you knelt to me then with imploring, 

What word could I say? 

Oh, love me then now, that it quicken 

My heart's failing breath! 
Why wait, till to love is to sicken 

At the coldness of death? 



305 



LISTENING 

I LISTEN and I listen 
For one I long to greet, 

And I hear the ceaseless passing 
Of footsteps on the street. 

I hear them coming, coming, 
So straight, so sure, so fast; 

And I hush my heart to hearken. 
But all the feet go past. 

Will it be SO' for ever? 

As on my bed I He, 
And count the pleasures coming, 

Will every one go by? 

Or may it one day happen, 
That when I hark no more, 

Some late lone joy, unnoticed, 
Will linger at my door? 



306 



FLOWERTIME WEATHER 

When you and I are together, 

That makes for me flowertime weather, 

Albeit the rain 

Beats harsh on the pane, 
And November lies brown on the lea. 

But alas for my flowertime weather 
When we are no longer together! 

Though June hold the land 

In the palm of her hand, 
It is everywhere Winter to me. 



307 



WERE I YON STAR 

Were I yon star whose silver ray 

Turns dusk to day, 
Lo, I would hide me till you came, 

Then burst in flame 
Athwart the darkness on your sight, 

And die in light. 

Were I yon rose whose fragrance rare 

Scents all the air, 
I would not blossom till the day 

You passed this way, 
Then pour my heart out in perfume 

And die in bloom. 

Were I yon lark whose sunny song 

Sounds all day long, 
Lo, I would hush me till you passed, 

Then wake at last, 
Spread my glad wings out toward the sky. 

Sing once, and die. 



308 



MY OTHER ME 

Children, do you ever 
In walks by land or sea, 

Meet a little maiden 
Long time lost to me? 

She is gay and gladsome, 

Has a laughing face, 
And a heart as sunny; 

And her name is Grace. 

Naught she knows of sorrow. 
Naught of doubt or bHght . 

Heaven is just above her. 
All her thoughts are white. 

Long time since I lost her, 
That other Me of mine. 

She crossed into Time's shadow, 
Out of Youth's sunshine. 

Now the darkness keeps her, 

And call her as I will, 
The years that lie between us. 

Hide her from me still. 
309 



310 My Other Me 

I am dull and pain-worn, 
And lonely as can be. 

children, if you meet her, 
Send back my other Me! 



THE WAY TO BE HAPPY 

Never to want what one may not have — 

Always to want what one may. 
Never to long for the love that is lost, 

Nor by night to remember the day. 

To be fonder of winter than summer or spring, 
To be fonder of leaves than of flowers. 

To be fonder of toil than of riches and rest, 
And of pain than of pleasureful hours. 

To demand nothing more of the heart one loves 
best, 

Than the least one would grant to one's foe. 
To ask no return for the gift of one's all, 

Save the loan of a heartache or so. 

To believe there are purpose and beauty in woe. 

To believe that to fail is to win. 
To stand in Hope's graveyard alone, and prefer 

The Now to the What-might-have-been. 



311 



SWINGING 

Higher, higher, farther away, 

Swing me — swing me — swing me! 
Up to the tree-top, up to the sky, 
So that none other has swung so high ! 
I will out-fly the bees and the birds and the winds. 

I will out-soar the song of the lark. 
I will reach to the clouds. I will shout in blue 

space. 
I will laugh in the shadowy silver face 

Of the moon, as she sits in the dark! 
Oh, higher, oh, higher, oh, farther away, 

Swing me — swing me — swing me ! 

See how I cleave the dim air in my flight, 

Like a dart from an unseen bow. 
See how I leap through the gloom of the night, 
Like a vision of sudden and sweetest delight 

Shot through a lifetime of woe. 
Upward, upward, upward alway. 
Like a spirit set free from its prison of clay. 
That speeds through the ether away and away 

To a world that none else of us know — 
Oh, higher, oh, higher, oh, farther away 

Swing me — swing me — swing me! 
312 



Swinging 313 

No higher? No higher? No higher? 

Oh, swing me — swing me — swing me! 
Can I stop so far short of my nearest desire? 
Is it so childish, so vain, to aspire? 

Oh, swing me, and swing me, and swing me! 
I would soar far above me. Oh, help if you love 

me! 
Oh, lend me the charm of love's powerful arm! 
Nay, faster and faster! Oh, farther, I pray! 
Can the dream end so soon? I was more than 
half-way, 

Oh, swing me ! Oh, swing me ! Oh, swing me ! 



LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM 

Vague as the shadows, 'neath April-leafed trees, 

Is Love's young Dream. 
Light as a thistledown tossed on the breeze, 

Is Love's young Dream. 
Frail as a fibre of frost-woven lace — 
Dim as the thought of a phantom face — 
Faint as the footprints of planets through space, 

Is Love's young Dream. 

Oh, brilliant and cold as the moon on the snow. 

Is Love's young Dream ! 
Oh, pulseless in bliss and unwounded in woe, 

Is Love's young Dream ! 
Shallow as brooklets that laugh as they run. 
And soulless as starlight when dawn is begun ! 
Oh, unlike to Love as glowworm to sun, 

Is Love's young Dream ! 



314 



A BIRTHDAY SONG 

Out and away, my song. 
The road is long ; 
The time is short ; 
For thou by break of day, my song, 
Must reach thy port. 
Hie through the night ! 
Catch thee a star-beam for thy steed. 
Saddle and curb it to thy need 

With diamonded light. 
Bind the whole heavens to its feet, 
Then leap into thy seat 
And loose it for wide flight ! 
Joy be thy spur and love thy whip. 
For ere the moon hath bent to lave 
Her pallid forehead in the wave, 
Ere dawn rose-paints the mountain tip, 
Ere light lies liquid on the bay 

And palpitant above. 
There, where my heart is, must thou be, 
song of mine, in lieu of me. 

And gently lay 
Thy little rhymes, all silver sweet 
With tender greetings, at the feet 
315 



3i6 A BirtHday Song 

Of one I love 
And shall love long. 
Haste thee, oh, haste thee then, my song I 
Near is the day. 
Out and away! 



RECOGNITION 

As erst with thee, O Psyche, so me-seems 

My wandering hands touched Love once in my 

dreams. 
Asleep he lay. Around us drooped the night. 
No gracious star-beam lent revealing light. 
I saw his form not, nor his matchless grace. 

And yet, unlike to thee, 
Need was not I should look him in the face. 
By that one touch, all in a moment's space, 

I knew him for a God ! 



317 



TO THE CICADA SEPTEMDECIM 

Buried at moment of thy birth 
Beneath the earth ; 
Hid thy life long afar 
From glimpse of nearest star; 
Creeping in darkness while rich seasons roll, 
Year following year, above thy stunted soul ; 
Knowing but what the dead know in the tomb 

Of silence and of gloom, 
Dead, thou too, in thy present and thy past, 
What call doth reach thy deadened ear at last? 
What instinct bids thee yearn towards the light — 

Thou, who hast known but night? 
What dream dawns in thee, beautiful and bold, 
Of sylvan flight in noons of shimmering gold. 
Where trembling trees their fluted leaves unfold? 
How should such radiant dream be thine? 
Or how canst thou divine 
The counting of the years? 
For when their meted tale is told, 
Lo, summoned straightway from the mould 
By voice none other hears — 
Lo, born anew. 
The dream thou could'st not dream, is true! 
Thy sluggish spirit wakes, spreads wings away. 
And knows the Day. 
318 



To tHe Cicada Septemdecim 319 

So, when God's time is done, may mystic call 

On my dull senses fall. 
So may I, groping upward through life's night, 
Go forth, new- winged, to an undreamed-of light. 



THE CLOSED DOOR 

Knock! Knock! Bide not there baffled with 
spent hand. 
Lo, here the threshold of thy dreamed-of goal — ■ 
Here, here, at last, ftdfilment for thy soul. 
Oh, knock! Oh, knock! Take not thy craven 

stand, 
Stilly consenting, with Fate's beggared band, 
By fear for ever mulcted of thy dole. 
Grasp for thy drop from Life's abtindant 
bowl — 
Thy meted morsel of th^ Promised Land ! 
The touch withheld, how shall the latch unlock? 

What hostel proffers to unchallenging guest 
Friendship's full feast — Wisdom's consummate 

wine? 
Fool ! For a lifted finger all were thine — 

All, all thy soul could compass at its best. 
Knock, that the door may open! Knock, oh, 
knock ! 



320 



A DREAM OF HAPPINESS 

One sat and modelled a most perfect face ; 

And they who passed him, marvelling at its grace, 

Vowed never mortal breathed so blest as he 

Whose soul held dream of such divinity. 

He, as he wrought, cursed God. — This was his 

fate; 
Conceiving Heaven, he lived without its gate. 



321 



ICARUS 

Bind on thy wings, Soul! Their eagle flight 
Shall lift thee to the Sun. For but one hour 
Glory, thou too, in superhuman power. 

Enraptured soar to Hope's extremest height; 

Confront unblenching the supernal light; 
Forget thine insufficiency of dower, 
And quicken all thy being into flower 

Ere blasted by intolerable Might. 

What though thou perish in the self -same breath 

That numbers thee mid Heaven's effulgent host? 
What though thy victory's award be death, 

If, dying, thou attain thine uttermost? 

Were not that brief immortal moment worth 
A wingless lifetime on the level Earth? 



322 



INTO MY LIFE SHE CAME 

Into my life she came 

One golden day, 
Softly as blossoms come 

Into the May. 
I only knew that she was there 
By the fragrance in the air. 

Into my heart she came 

One day of days, 
Stilly, as on night's dark 

God's stars outblaze. 
I only knew that she was there 
By the glory everywhere. 



323 



LIKE A GARDEN OP MARVELLOUS MID- 
SUMMER BLOOMS 

Like a garden of marvellous midsummer blooms 
In a tangle of twilights and sunfloods and 

glooms — 
A riot of raptures in scarlet and blue 
With blisses of purple and gold breaking 

through — 
A temple to passion, with mossbanks for stairs, 
And colours for anthems, and perfumes for 

prayers, 
Where all longings, all dreams, all desires that be 
Exhale in the breath of each blossoming tree, — 
Such, O Love, is my heart's love — my heart's 

love for thee ! 

Like a mist, fallen soft as a sleep o'er the land, 
A peace all-compelling, too vast to withstand, 
Wherein dreams lie undreamed and petitions 

unspoken — 
An impalpable hush from Nirvana evoken, 
Holding passion and sense in divinest control 
As by touch of God's finger laid white on the 

soul — 

324 



Garden of Mids\iniiner Blooms 325 

A holiest calm, a supreme ecstasy 
Where Heaven begins and Earth ceases to be — 
Such, O Love, is my soul's love — my soul's love 
for thee. 



CAGED 

It was born behind bars, but it knew it had wings, 
And it felt God had meant it for happier things ; 
And it sang of the joys that it never had known — 
Of fetterless flights over fields flower-strown ; 
Of the green of the forest and gold of the wheat : 
Of the thrill of the tree-top, just touched by its 

feet; 
Of the feel of a lily-leaf, brushed by its breast, 
And the splash of a^ raindrop, caught on its 

crest. 
It sang of the beauty, the rapture of flying, 
The palpitant air to its heart-beats replying, 
Naught over, naught under, save limitless blue 
And the music of wing-strokes, rh5rthmic and 

true. 
It sang, and men said that its song was good ; 
But not one understood. 

Then a bird of the fields they brought in from a 

snare, 
And a day and a night held it prisoner there. 
And a night and a day, unbelieving, distraught. 
With impassible fate for its freedom it fought, 
326 



Caged 327 

Though it bled at the breast bhndly beating the 

bars 
As if strength of desire should force way to the 

stars ; 
Till men pitied, and said: "It was free its life 

long; 
Who could bid it endure but a day of such wrong ? ' ' 
And they flung wide the door, and the bird, 

flashing through, 
Swept away, Hke a leaf in a gale, from their view. 

Then the other, behind the closed bars of its fate, 
Once again sang its heart out — its need, co-create. 
Of the broad and the boundless. In passionate 

song 
It besought men to right for one day its Hfe's 

wrong — 
To bestow for a day, or for one only hour. 
The leave to make proof of its God-given power; 
For one hour only to float on free wings 
In the world where its soul lived — ^the world of 

best things, 
Of commensurate effort and gain, of desire, 
Unhnked from despair, mounting higher and 

higher 
Till lost in attainment— the world of clear visions , 
True measures, high aims, and untrammelled 

decisions — 
The world God had made it for. So its song rose. 
Ecstatic, tumultuous, thrilled with wild woes 



328 Cag'ed 

And delicious complainings, until the last note 
Broke off in an exquisite cry in its throat. 
And men listened, and said that the song was 
good. 

But not one understood. 



MY FRIEND 

With a forehead serene and the gait of a queen 

She is threading life's sorrowful maze. 
Of her blessed evangel is none other sign 
Than that lift of her head, and a courage divine 
In the exquisite cakn of her gaze. 

But to walk where she leads is to hold by high 
creeds ; 
To feel stirrings of wings in the soul ; 
To make spurs of one's fetters and moons of 

midnights ; 
Of dim deserts make Pisgahs, of falls eagle- 
flights 
That shall sweep at one stretch to the goal. 

And remembering her is afar to recur 
To vows made by her side unafraid; 

To grow strong with her strength; to be girt 
with her grace, 

And to pattern one's soul by the look in her face, 
To receive Truth's supreme accolade. 



329 



IN AN ECLIPSE 

Whene'er in the course of our daytime of doing, 

While high overhead stands the sun, 
The forced night of inaction, our footsteps pur- 
suing, 
Bids halt, though our, best be undone. 
Oh, then, if we faint not for grief or surprise, 
All the stars that we steer by will show in God's 
skies. 



330 



REMEMBRANCE 

It lies on our life like the stars on the sea, 

Like dew on the face of the flower, 
Like shade on the sun-dazzled stretch of the lea, 
Like snow on the storm-beaten boughs of the tree, 
Like light on the wings of the shower. 

It comes as comes faith to the nun on her knees, 

Or day-dawn to timorous sky. 
It thrills through our souls as in summer the 

breeze 
Descends on the slumbering green of the trees, 

And stirs them to trembling reply. 

From iris-hued realms of the shadowy past, 

Its wonderful flight it comes winging, 
With odours of blossoms that drooped in the 

blast. 
With star-beams that vanished when skies were 
o'ercast, 
And music that hushed in the singing. 

And scars of old sorrows, ghosts of dead pain 
That left us all faint and weak hearted, 
331 



332 Remembrance 

With droppings of tears that were once as hot 

rain, 
These too doth it bring us, and bringing again, 
Reveals that their sting is departed. 

It Hnks the pale past and the present in one 

With ladders of vacillant light, 
Along which, dim-footed and opal-robed, run 
Hand in hand with to-day all the days that are 
done, 

Crowned each with its crown of delight. 

It cleaves with a transient rainbow ray 

The clouds of Earth's tempest-torn places, 
And does for us, living, what Death does one day. 
When bending above us he kisses away 
Life's woe from our weariful faces. 



SEMELE 

Great Jove, great god of gods, awful and 

absolute, 
If Jove indeed thou be, cast off this disrepute 
Of human likeness, this poor mask of mortal 

youth. 
Put on thy godliness. Proclaim thee Jove in 

truth! 
Robed in tempestuous pomp, the lightning for 

thy crown. 
Rend the obscuring skies ! As king of kings come 

down. 
Thy sovereignty about thee like a living flame, 
And woo me as gods woo, to my resplendent 

shame! 

Grant me this only grace. Behold, I give thee 

all, 
As blossoms give their bloom at summer's secret 

call, 
As birds outpour their songs at morning's 

signalled light, 
As stars first wax aglow at whisper of the night. 
333 



334 Sexnele 

Beneath thy feet my throne is. Heaven is where 

thou art. 
Thy pulses' feeblest count is a blood-beat of my 

heart. 
I breathe but by thy breath. I am but what 

thou wilt, 
My being lost in thee as wine in wine is spilt. 
Then match me love for love, or grant me only 

this — 
To know my soul exchanged for an immortal's 

kiss! 

Oh , see ! Oh , hark ! — ^A crash ! An all-devouring 

blaze ! 
Almighty Jove, 'tis thou! And Death around 

thee plays ! 

Lover divinely awful, oh, aloof! aloof I 

Of a weak earthly loom is spun my heart's frail 

woof. 
In mercy veil thyself. Naught but an eagle's 

eye 
May look upon the sun's unshadowed majesty. 
Give me not all I asked ! Thy full magnificence 
Reserve for Heaven alone. Beware Earth's 

impotence. 
Smitten with too much splendour as with too 

much pain 
My spirit slips its leash. Oh, vain prayer prayed 

in vain! 



Semele 335 

Thy thunders drown my cries in their stupendous 

roll. 
The flaming of thy passion sears my shrinking 

soul. 
Thy fires have wrapped me round as in a burning 

shroud. 
I die — I die of thee ! lover, lightning-browed, 
Withdraw thy glory ! Lo ! I sink upon the sod ! 
Love but as mortals love! Love not as loves a 

god! 



THE BEND OF THE ROAD 

Oh, that bend of the road, how it baffles, yet 

beckons ! 
What lies there beyond — less or more than heart 

reckons? 
What ends, what begins, there where sight fails 

to follow? 
Does the road climb to heaven, or dip to the 

hollow? 
What glory of greenness, what lights interlacing, 
What softness of shadow, what bounty of spacing. 
What refreshment of change — aye, what beauty 

Elysian 
The sweep of that curve may deny to the vision ! 
Oh, my soul yearns for sight! Oh, my feet long 

to follow. 
Swift-winged with sweet hope as with wings of a 

swallow ! 
Though lonely the way, void of song, void of 

laughter, 
I must go to the end — I must know what comes 

after. 



336 



THE HIDDEN BROOK 

So flows my love along your life, O friend — 

A whispered song, with neither break nor end, 

Outbreathed wherever your dear footsteps tend. 

Albeit you listen not, are not aware 

Of any music throbbing on the air, 

Still my full heart goes singing to you there. 

Content, although the way be long to run 
And closed for ever from the moon and sun, 
With emerald dusks and opal dawns all one — 

Content, content, if Heaven but grant this meed. 
That you may drink in any hour of need. 



337 



A LAST MESSAGE 

Dear, I lie dying, and thou dost not know — 
Thou, whom of all the world I love the best ! — 
And wilt not know, until I lie at rest 

With lips for ever closed, and Hds dropped low. 

O Love — O Love — I can not leave thee so! — 
Can not, still undivined, still unexpressed. 
Unheeding to the last my heart's behest, 

Dumb into the Eternal Silence go ! 
What reck I in this moment of disgrace? 

Albeit the whole world hear what my heart saith, 
I cry aloud to thee across all space. 

To thee — to thee — I call with my last breath ! 
O Love, lean forth from out thy dwelling place ! 

Listen, and learn — I loved thee, Love, till death. 



338 



IN THE FORUM OF JUSTICE 

Pass. Pass. Pass. Thou hast had thine hour 
To sow in and reap. Is it thistle for flower? 
'T is the seed is at fault, e'en though Jove stayed 

the shower ; 
Make way for thy comrade with double thy 

dower. 

Halt. Halt. Halt. There was given thee grace 
To begin with the best and their records efface 
Had thy sandals been winged. Step down from 

the race. 
One swifter than thou art would run in thy place. 

Cease. Cease. Cease. Thou hast had thy 

chance. 
Must a Pallas attend thee, to ward off mischance? 
Let fall thy vain weapon. A thousand advance 
To rush on and win with thy pitiful lance. 



339 



FATE 

A WIDE bare field 'neath blinding skies, 
Where no tree grows, no shadow lies, 
Where no wind stirs, where no bee flies. 

A roadway, even, blank and white, 

That swerves not left, that swerves not right, 

That stretches, changeless, out of sight. 

Footprints midway adown its dust; 
Two lagging, leaden feet that just 
Trail on and on, because they must. 



340 



TO MY FATHER 

As the poorest may borrow some treasure 
To adorn what is meagre or bare, 

So a memory loved beyond measure 
I lay on my book, with the prayer, 

Its dear presence all fault may efface, 

And a lingering touch of its grace 
May ennoble my words unaware. 



341 






im 



